and I want to go home
by ofb29
Summary: Au post OofP. He has no memory of being a wizard. How does he fit into a world that already views him as a hero and expects him to save them once again?
1. chapter 1

The world seemed to have closed in on itself, encased in a never ending sky of dark grey cloud. It had yet to rain, a fact that didn't look like it would last that long, as another flash of lighting split the cloud in half, briefly giving light to a world lost in murkiness.

The lighting made a young man, observing the street from behind a double glazed window, blink. About the only movement he'd made in the last fifteen minutes as he stared out into the dull grey of Privet Drive. The houses lining the street were hard to differentiate from each other, like a line of soldiers standing to attention, waiting for their orders. The lightening was followed by an almighty crash of thunder, causing the boy to jump, even with its inevitability. The noise sounded loud in the silent house around him. He pressed his forehead more firmly against the cold pane of glass, watching the first raindrops finally soaking the ground, quickly followed by a more torrential downpour. Harry Potter sighed. It was finally raining.

He stayed staring out of the window, his thoughts a jumble that he wasn't inclined to try and sort out. Sorting out meant dwelling too long on events that he had no wish to dwell on. He looked round at the empty birdcage stood open at the far corner of his room. He hoped wherever Hedwig, his large snowy owl, was, she was at least dry. She'd gone out hunting the night before, and had yet to return, a fact that didn't worry Harry; she had been gone a lot longer before. He just hoped she would hurry in her return. At least then he would have someone to talk to in this miserable, silent house.

A door slammed below, making him jump again. In his efforts to not think, he had completely missed the large company car, owned by Mr Dursley, pulling into the driveway below. Harry sighed, unconsciously slipping lower in the chair he sat in, pulling back from the window, somehow hoping the smaller he was, the less likely his uncle would yell up the stairs at him.

The inevitable, however, has a way of happening against everyone's wishes. First the trill voice of Aunt Petunia sounded, greeting her husband as if he'd been gone on a long sea cruise rather than just another day at the office. Followed by the loud booming voice of Uncle Vernon, filling the house with it's sudden noise, no doubt boasting once again of some impossible contract he'd wangled out of some unsuspecting client or other. And then 'BOY! Get down here, NOW!'

Harry sighed, and the very foundations of the house he was in seemed to sigh with him, as he wearily got to his feet, stretching out a kink in his back slowly and carefully before beginning the long trek to fulfil his uncle's beckoning.

'Ah, you there,' His uncle greeted his only nephew, looking up at him as if he were a particularly nasty specimen of newt. His bushy moustache quivered, no doubt under the strain of not saying anything too nasty to his "special" nephew. It had only been a few days since they'd left Kings Cross station, the warning from Mad Eye Moody had to still be ringing fresh in his uncle's ears. Harry briefly wondered how long that would last out for. 'why haven't you started dinner yet? Your aunt has been busy all day, no doubt running around after your no good hide. The least you could do is to start preparing dinner. Pay at least some of your way'

'Yes Uncle Vernon.' Harry interrupted before his uncle could really get into the swing of his lecture about his no good hide and the free ride he had had up to now, no doubt progressing onto how good the Dursleys had been in taking him into their house all those years ago, giving him a roof over his head, feeding him, clothing him, making his very existence a misery he could yet behold.

'Don't you "yes Uncle Vernon" to me.' His uncle snapped at him, 'what are you still doing up there? We want dinner tonight, not next week.'

Harry moved somewhat reluctantly, seeing as it was heading towards his uncle rather than back to his room, unconsciously reaching with his right hand to his pocket, where his wand would normally be. It felt very unnatural to not have it to hand. He thought of it now, safely tucked between his schoolbooks after being banned to be on Harry's person by Uncle Vernon the first day back. At first Vernon had tried to wrestle it off him. They had compromised, to a certain extent, that Harry wouldn't carry it around the house. Seeing as it unnerved his poor cousin Dudley so. Harry thought it would do the big slob good to be on his guard, but despite what his friends might think about it, he was all for the quiet life. If that was what his Aunt and Uncle wanted, they could have it. And according to everyone, this was the safest place for him to be, after all. Why did he need to carry around his wand when the wards protected him? The wards that meant he couldn't be anywhere else but under the roof of the relatives that hated him probably just as much as Voldemort did. After all, it wasn't as if Voldemort wasn't going to come and attack him here.

Harry often wondered how they could know that the most powerful wizard of their time was not going to attack him when he felt at his most vulnerable, but that was the life he lived. The fight about his wand had lasted well into the first night, till Harry just didn't have the energy to fight his uncle anymore.

His mind had moved swiftly back to the world he had just left behind, too quickly for him to slam the gates against the sudden memories of the last few weeks at school. Of his own stupidness of going to the ministry, of seeing Sirius, once again, falling behind the veil. The anger came, harsh and cold, the guilt quickly following on. Harry stared down at the pork chops he had to cook. He would not think of it, he would not think of it, not think of it. He almost let out a sarcastic laugh. Not thinking too much was what had got him into so much trouble in the first place.

As he lay in bed that night, the expended energy of not thinking making him feel exhausted, he wondered what it would be like to have a muggle life, a life where he was nobody. Where his scar was just that, a scar. Where he didn't channel Voldemort's every whim and desire. Where Voldemort himself existed only as a few murderous headlines in the occasional newspaper. Where he wasn't living as a result of a prophecy that basically spelt the end of his existence. Where his parents had simply been killed in a tragic accident, and not struck down in their prime because they were trying to protect their only son from a Dark Lord's whim. Where he could just be Harry. He was aware of how useless his thinking was. And indeed, how even if he could wish it, he wouldn't. Because for all of the down side of being a wizard, that was what he was, it was who he was. He would always belong far more in the wizard world than he could ever belong here. However much he wished for obscurity, of being just a normal boy, he didn't for one second wish to be away from the world that had whisked him away from his harsh existence five years ago. His life was now irreconcilably linked to that world. Without it, it didn't matter if there was no prophecy, he didn't think he could exist anyway.

The summer stretched before him, a never-ending sea of dark, gloomy days, of thoughts he wished he didn't belong to, of emotions he wished he could banish forever. He wrote, diligently, every three days, addressing his letters to The Order, the words varied, but the sentiment the same; he was fine, the muggles were behaving. He didn't dare write anything else. Owl post was as susceptible to falling into the wrong hands as any other form of communication. He thought wistfully of the words he wanted to write. What's He up to? What's going on with the Ministry, now? Have there been any more killings? And, perhaps, more importantly than all, when am I going to get out of here?

He spent all day, wandering the streets of little Whinging, his wand safely tucked away within easy reach. Every evening he would be home, timed to arrive before his uncle, so that he could safely stow his wand away, in case his uncle re-ignited his ideas of instead locking it away for the summer. Some people, namely Hermione, might have tutted at his straying from the safety of his blood relation's protection. But whilst Harry could just about stand to live in the muggle world, staying within the four walls of number 4 Privet Drive would have driven him slowly and surely to insanity. It was bad enough being stuck there at night, surrounded on all sides by the dark walls of his room, staring out at the perpetual darkness of the sky, with not even the moon and the stars to ponder on. This, he decided, as he crossed off just one day on his "countdown to Hogwarts" chart, was going to be the longest summer of his life.

'Ronald Weasley! Get down here, this instance!' His mother's shrill voice easily carried the length of the house, reaching the teenage boy's ears and making him gulp, audibly. He reluctantly put down the Quidditch magazine he had been flicking through, dragging his lanky frame up from his bed. He had grown again over the year, now almost as big as his dad, in height anyway. His weight had yet to catch up with what seemed to be a never-ending growth spurt. He hurried down the stairs, briefly snatching a glimpse of his sister, Ginny, singing to herself as she scowled over what looked suspiciously like homework as he ran past her open bedroom door.

'Yes mum?' He asked breathlessly.

'What did I ask you to do this morning?' His mother asked, rounding on him, brandishing a washing up brush at him.

'Ummm…' Ron had no idea what he had been asked to do that morning. He barely remembered getting up that morning. The long lazy days of summer were joining together in such a way as to make him forget precise details of any day.

Mrs Weasley did not look pleased at having whatever she had asked to be done, not only not done, but even completely forgotten about, by her youngest son. 'I asked you to tidy that mess you made in the living room last night.'

'Oh, yeah, that.' Ron said, breathing a sigh that that had been all that he had forgotten.

This, obviously, wasn't the answer his mother had been expecting from him. 'Honestly, Ron, you are not a child anymore.' That fact alone didn't seem to sit very comfortably with his mum, even if she had been the one to say it. Her tone was quiet, almost upset, an emotion Ron wasn't used to hearing, one that made him more uncomfortable than if she'd just yelled at him.

He ducked his head, 'I know mum. I'll do it now.' He said quickly, wanting to appease his mum. Cursing the thing that was making his usually jolly mum so melancholy. He walked into the living room beginning to clear away the kit he had been using to clean the brooms last night. He had left it in a real mess. No wonder his mum was upset.

Unknown to him, his mother's eyes followed him from the kitchen, her thoughts running to wondering when all her children had grown up so much. Even Ginny, her little girl was turning into a young woman. It didn't sit comfortably with her. It was bad enough when they were all away at school. Even worse, when she heard the horror stories of what exactly they had been doing at that school. Storming into the ministry like that. Even now it made her heart beat uncomfortably fast.

She had hoped, when He Who Must Not Be Named had been beaten the first time, by a baby no less, that she would be able to bring her young family up in peace. That had been shattered spectacularly, with the resurrection witnessed by Ron's best friend. Poor Harry. This year hadn't gone any better, either. Losing Sirius like that. Mrs Weasley shook her head as she turned back to the washing up, flicking her wand at it and making the washing up brush scrub the breakfast pots. The mothering heart inside her cried out for the poor boy that had been forced to grow up faster than anyone should. She briefly wondered how he was doing. The letters he sent, arriving on time, every three days were short, to the point. Almost bitter, it felt to Molly; he was fine, the muggles were treating him ok. She could almost feel the unwritten words the author had wanted to write; what's He doing, when can I get out of here? She vowed to ask Dumbledore once again at the next Order meeting when they might expect Harry at the Burrow again.

Ron had just about given up on getting the smudge of grease out of the rug when Ginny walked into the lounge, flopping onto the nearest couch. Ron spared her a glance, before looking back at the grease stain that was, if anything, bigger than when he had started scrubbing at it. His elbow and hand were aching from scrubbing so hard; Ron was worried the rug would start unthreading or fraying before the grease deemed to move.

'Why don't you ask mum to clean it?' Ginny queried, not offering to help herself, Ron noticed.

'She asked me to clean the lounge.'

'You're gonna put a hole in the rug before you get that out. I think mum would rather have a hole-less rug and be asked for help.'

Ron sat back on his heels, regarding his sister properly. 'She seemed a bit weird, earlier. I didn't want to disturb her.'

'Weird? How?' Ginny asked sitting up straighter, looking a little worried.

Ron shrugged, infuriating Ginny with the gesture. 'I don't know…going on about how we weren't children anymore.'

Ginny visibly relaxed back into the sofa. 'She said the same to me yesterday, how I wasn't a little girl anymore. I mean, thanks for noticing, mum.' She added, sarcastically.

'Shhh.' Ron said. A finger to his lips, a worried glance at the door.

Ginny looked at him surprised.

'It's just…she was really upset about it, I think.' Ron said, surprising Ginny that he had even noticed that their mum could get upset. It had only taken him almost seventeen years.

Ginny sighed, hauling herself up, taking out her wand.

'Ginny! We can't do magic.'

'When has that ever stopped you?' Ginny queried, squatting by the stain, pointing her wand at it. '_abeo_ grease.' She at least whispered.

Ron looked down, as the pale colour of the rug seemed to wash over the grease stain, covering it from view. 'What was that?' he asked, still whispering.

'I learnt it out of this old cleaning book of mum's. It covers the stain.'

'Why didn't you just clean it?'

'Cause I couldn't remember that spell.' Ginny said, matter of factly, standing back up. 'Oh, and you're welcome.'

'What for?'

'I assume you meant to say thank you?'

'Oh, yeah, thanks Ginny.'

Dear Order Members,

Thank you for your continued support in helping me to defeat Voldermort. I assure you that I am fulfilling my part of the prophecy, sitting here on my backside all day, staring at another wet and damp Privet Drive. It's so good to know how important my part in the prophecy is, that you won't even tell me what the hell is going on.

Harry looked down at the words that had come flowing from the end of the quill, only now realising exactly what he'd written. A part of him wanted to call out to the newly returned Hedwig, get her to carry the letter to all those people in the Order just waiting to hear. The bigger part of him, the grown up part he hoped, snatched up the bit of parchment, looking at it a final time before crumbling it into a ball and throwing it at the waste paper bin. It missed spectacularly, making him think that at least he'd never tried out for chaser on the Quidditch team. He pulled out a new scroll of parchment, dipped his quill once more in the ink well, and turned his attention to the proper letter.

A few minutes later and he was tying the letter to an unusually complaint Hedwig. She hooted softly at him, making Harry tense momentarily, waiting for the first shout at the noise. He relaxed when none came, stroking the loving bird gently down the front of her body. The feathers were silk under his feathers, and the bird hooted its pleasure once again.

'Thanks girl.' Harry said softly, watching her as she hopped from his desk onto the open window ledge, giving him a last soft hoot before taking off, her impressive wing span at full stretch as she soared off into the night sky. 'Bye.' He said softly, thinking of the letter she was delivering, hoping that no harm would come to her in the journey. The "I'm fine, Muggles are fine" note didn't seem worthy of potentially getting attacked over.

He watched till she was barely a spot against the dark sky, before turning from the window, as downstairs the front door was slammed shut, Uncle Vernon no doubt on his way to the local for his usual two pints and 3 rounds of bragging. If Harry had turned he would have seen him head out, turning left onto the road, walking the 500 or so yards to The Blue Rose.

Instead, Harry was surprised when there was a soft knock on the door, and Aunt Petunia pushed her way in. He waited, staring her down, wondering what she was going to attack him for now. Instead she smiled, slightly, at him, the unusual facial features looking taunt on a face more prone to sneering and sticking its nose up in the air at something. In her hands she carried a steaming mug and a plate of biscuits. 'I…' She stopped, clearing her throat before trying again. 'I thought you might like a late night snack.'

Harry was clearly suspicious, staying where he was, watching his Aunt in curiosity, yes, at this sudden change of behaviour, but mostly with scepticism and wariness.

His aunt had obviously been expecting the response though, because any lecture that he would normally have received, probably along the lines of being a selfish brat, who didn't deserve the roof, the food, anything else they could think of that he'd taken over the last umpteen years, wasn't forthcoming.

Instead she smiled again, somewhat nervously it seemed to Harry, walking a few steps into the room so that she could perch the mug and plate on the nearest flat surface, a chest of drawers. 'Well, I'm sure you're hungry. I'll…I'll go now.' She finished lamely, clearly uncomfortable with his continued silence, beating a hasty retreat.

Harry didn't know what he found more suspicious; the fact that his aunt, who had barely deemed it necessary to grace the room with her presence, let along knock at his door before had offered him a snack, or the fact that her words were almost…courteous towards him. Harry was used to being told he was useless by the Dursleys, words said in anger, words said in merriment, either way they had the same sentiment. It was about the first thing any of Dursleys had said directly to him that hadn't involved the words boy, brat or ungrateful.

Harry waited, straining to hear the stairs creak as his aunt walked back downstairs. Slowly, cautiously, he got to his feet, walking towards the offerings with as much care as someone would approach a bomb they were expecting to blow at any time. He certainly expected it to go off in his face, although he wondered if this was too much influence by the Weasley twins and their pranks rather than the muggles behaviour. After all, what could they do, except maybe poison him? They certainly wouldn't let any of his "unnaturalness" into their home. Whilst Harry wouldn't put it past them to deviously hurt him, he couldn't see Aunt Petunia giving him anything that could potentially ruin her floors. And he really was peckish, he decided, breathing in the sweet aroma of Hot Chocolate. Really peckish in fact, and without dwelling anymore on the whys and wherefores he started eating one of the biscuits on the plate, quickly picking up the rest to take back to the bed with him.

At the end of the day, he didn't have the energy to try and figure out the Dursleys on top of everything else. Perhaps this was what miracles were really about, he mused, as he sipped the creamy sweet hot chocolate.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer- not mine, just borrowing the characters!_

The next day he spent trying not to get in anyways way, as he had been for the rest of his holiday. Uncle Vernon was easy to avoid- nine to five he was at work, he came home, sat on his chair, read the paper, watched the evening news, was vocal on how much better things would be if he had his way, before sitting down to the evening meal. And if Harry was really lucky, that would be the one contact with him before he embarked for his local pub.

Aunt Petunia was slightly harder to work out. Her daytime job involved checking out if any of the neighbours were doing something they shouldn't be, or if they were watching so she could put on some show about her new car/hairdo/anything else that was shiny and expensive. Harry, of course, was not on any list of things to be shown off to the neighbours. If he was out loitering in the park, then Aunt Petunia usually complained about what the neighbours would think. However, if he loitered around in the garden, then the neighbours might also have something to say about this. And if he had the audacity to sit in his room, perhaps doing all the homework that was meant to be done for school, then apparently, the neighbours might even find this strange, as teenage boys weren't meant to stay inside in summer to do their homework. Harry had once asked his aunt exactly what it was his aunt wanted him to do during the day. She hadn't answered directly, just muttered something about boys who should know better.

If Harry was feeling vindictive, he did all the above just because he knew it would annoy her. The other days, like today, he just wanted to stay below the radar, stay out of the way, and spent the day walking through the opposite side of town where no one had heard the story of the boy who went to a school for the criminally insane, or whoever St Brutus was meant to be for.

He got home that evening just before his uncle, giving him time to get up the stairs before his uncle could start in on either his hair or his clothes. Surprisingly, that evening, Aunt Petunia didn't immediately call him down to help with dinner. Instead, he crept down, about thirty minutes later to find dinner merrily cooking itself on the stove, Aunt Petunia standing guard in case it dared do anything out of line. Uncle Vernon was in his seat, mulling over the evening paper, a large glass of red wine already in his hand. Dudley was fixated on the TV.

Harry waited patiently for the first jibe, the first angry retort, and was more than a little surprised when there was just silence. Feeling almost as if he had walked into the twilight zone, then smirking slightly when he imagined Ron asking what the hell was the twilight zone, he walked over to the table. Aunt Petunia acknowledged his presence with the smallest of nods as he sat down. For a moment he just sat there, feeling stunned, until hesitantly he began to lay the table with mats and cutlery.

And that was how it carried on. Dinner was a much quieter affair than usual. Harry wondered if the Dursleys had been stunned or something, but they seemed to be talking normally to each other. Harry was just getting used to being ignored, quite liking the chance to eat his dinner in peace, when Aunt Petunia looked at him. 'and how was your day?'

Harry was so shocked he almost sprayed his mouthful of peas over the table. Swallowing with difficulty, he looked up at her. 'Are you…are you talking to me?' He checked.

He was expecting his Uncle to make at least one snide comment, but he was quiet, staring at his dinner, putting all his concentration into getting fork from plate to mouth. Harry glanced at Dudley, who was also shovelling his food in as if he thought it about to escape his plate. Harry was glad for at least something normal. He concentrated back on Aunt Petunia. 'Uh…it was…okay?' He tried, sure he was walking directly into a trap.

'Good, good. And you, dear?' Aunt Petunia said, turning to Dudley, who managed to grunt between mouthfuls of mash.

Harry was feeling mighty uncomfortable by the end of the meal, desperate to escape this weird setting and get to the safety of his room. He was still expecting something to happen as he walked from the room, Aunt Petunia assuring him he didn't need to do the washing up, their new dishwasher could do it. (Which, incidentally, was the first time Harry had heard her refer to the new machine doing any work- he had assumed it was just for show.) He finished a History of Magic essay, and was just getting into writing letters to Hermione and Ron when there was a quiet knock on his door. Harry thought he knew who would be there, and wasn't surprised when Aunt Petunia stepped into his room, making no comment regarding the state of it, and offered him another mug of hot chocolate. It was a cool evening, and Harry was almost grateful for it; the bigger part of him was still expecting _something_ to happen.

But Aunt Petunia just smiled, offering him a good night as she went out of the room. Harry settled on his bed, enjoying the drink, the letter to Hermione asking her what she thought about the Dudley's sudden attitude abandoned on his desk. The letter remained unwritten.

Ron Weasley stepped out of his room, opened his mouth and bellowed down the stairs 'GINNY!'

'Will you stop yelling!' An equally loud voice from below answered his cry.

'Sorry mum.' He called back, slightly quieter, before he made for the stairs, stomping down them, determined that this time his sister was going to answer for what she had done.

'Ginny!' He shouted through her closed door hammering loudly on the wood.

The door opened underneath his battering fist, almost causing him to tumble through the door. 'Yes Ron?' Ginny asked sweetly.

'Don't you "yes Ron" me! I swear this is the last time, now give him back!'

'Give who back?' Ginny asked, her performance of acting all sweet and innocent certainly not working to contain Ron's temper.

'You know what! Give me back Pig. This is the forth time this week you've nicked him!'

'Oh…Pig…he's taken a letter for me.'

'What?' Ron cried in anger.

'Yes, I had a letter for Dean.'

'You sent _my_ owl, to _your_ boyfriend?'

'He's not my boyfriend.' Ginny said, irritated by the constant accusation. 'We're just friends.'

At first, Ron couldn't decide to stay on track, or go down this new, incredibly satisfying teasing route. He decided to stick with the former- he could always tease Ginny about her love life later. 'You should have asked. I've got a letter for Harry I wanted to send.'

'Hermione more like.' Ginny said with a grin.

She was rewarded with a blush quickly spreading over Ron's face, turning him bright red. She laughed.

'I've got one for Harry and Hermione. They are both my friends after all.' Ron said quickly. 'Look, just ask next time, ok?' He finished, not waiting for her nod as he was already running up the stairs.

Ginny shook her head, it was too easy to tease Ron, especially as he walked into most of his own traps.

'Ron, Ginny, dinner!' Mrs Weasley yelled up the stairs, just as Ginny was about to step back into the room. Ginny looked back in, at all the homework spread over the duvet, and quickly decided dinner was a much better option. Not that she could miss it; missing dinner was close to sacrilege in the Weasley household.

'What was all that yelling for?' Mrs Weasley asked as Ginny took her seat, Ron following a few seconds later and sitting opposite.

'Nothing.' They both answered at the same time. Mrs Weasley looked at them disbelievingly, before she dished out the Shepherd's Pie to them both.

Mr Weasley sat in his usual spot at the head of the table, just home from the office, and greeted them warmly. 'Do anything interesting today?' he asked as he tucked into his own meal.

'Went flying.' Ron answered through a mouthful of mince.

'Ronald Weasley, how many times do I have to tell you not to talk with your mouthful?' Mrs Weasley admonished, sitting down opposite her husband, tucking the dishcloth she had been carrying into the waistband of her apron. Not waiting for an answer, she began to quiz her husband on what he had done that day, not pleased to hear that things were looking even more unsettled day by day.

Ron and Ginny were both concentrating, Ron hardest, on eating, but looked up at the mention of Harry's name. Ron swallowed quickly, before turning to his mum. 'Did Dumbledore say when he thought Harry could come here?'

'Not quite, my dear. Harry should stay for a little while with his own family.' Mrs Weasley's face told exactly what she thought of that plan, but she said nothing, not liking to criticise the headmaster in front of her children. 'Professor Dumbledore did suggest, though, that you and Hermione visit him one day, to keep him company.'

'When?' Ron asked in excitement, Ginny smiling as he literally bounced in his chair.

'Well there's a little more planning to do yet.' Mrs Weasley said vaguely. 'Why don't you owl Hermione, see when is best for her, then we can arrange it with Dumbledore.'

'I can't wait to owl Harry, he'll.'

'No.' Mr Weasley interrupted his son, who was already on his feet. Ron looked back at him. 'You can't send an owl to Harry. Not with any details of this. It is being planned very carefully, and you don't want to compromise anyone's safety, do you?'

Ron shook his head, looking downcast for a moment, before he smiled. 'I'll go owl Hermione.' He said brightly.

Ginny quickly swallowed the last mouthful of Shepherd's Pie, knowing it wouldn't be long before Ron remembered she'd used his owl. 'I'm gonna feed the chickens.' She said as she rushed out the back door, just as Ron, looking furious, stormed back in. 'GINNY!'

'And you dear? What are your plans for the day?'

Aunt Petunia's question was more expected now, and Harry no longer jumped when he was addressed by any of the Dursleys. In fact, it felt natural now, no longer weird, or forced. Which in itself was slightly weird.

'Oh, I don't know…I was thinking of doing some school work at the library.' Harry didn't know why exactly he needed to go to the library. It had just come out of his mouth, and seemed right. He was sure he had schoolwork to be done, but part of him knew that a muggle library wouldn't help him much; he'd never bothered with Muggle Studies, after all. But, it felt like something he was meant to do.

'Good, good.' Harry had his head down, and missed the significant look passed between Mr and Mrs Dursley.

The summer holiday was slowly heading the way all holidays went, and Harry was…surprised…that this holiday hadn't been any where near as all the other summer holidays he'd had to endure. It was just small things, like not having to endure the constant criticism of Mr Dursley. Or being addressed by any of the Dursleys. But more and more he felt like something was missing. When he thought about it too much, there was nothing specific he could think of. Everything seemed to be exactly where it should be. The only thing he could put the feeling down to was missing school. The holidays were a long time to not see all his friends. But even this didn't feel right. He was finding, the longer he tried to think of school, and his friends, the more hazy these memories seemed to be. The long holiday seemed to be having an effect on his memory, Harry thought. He wasn't too worried. Every day, after all, only brought him closer to the start of school.

_Enjoyed? Not? Please review and let me know if I should continue…_


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the reviews(!) Characters don't belong to me… 

And so life, at Privet Drive, continued as normal. While at first this fact disconcerted Harry, the longer it went on, the less it felt wrong. The less he missed about Hogwarts, about magic. He especially didn't mind the fact that Voldermort and the events at the Ministry of Magic seemed like a lifetime ago now. He didn't miss the fact that the memories of that time were fading; that when he tried to remember getting on the Thestrals, or arriving at the Ministry, or trying to find the mysterious corridor it all seemed like they happened to someone else, almost like someone had told him a story once, rather than he himself having lived through it. Even the pain of Sirius's death seemed to have diminished; the action of time dulling both the pain and the memories. Some part of Harry felt guilty about that fact; that the memories he had of Sirius could, less than a month after his death, be at best described as hazy. But he didn't miss the pain, the hurt inside that had at times felt like someone had pulled his heart out of his chest and was busy jumping on it. He didn't mind that the pain had faded to a dull ache now, a pain that he could live with. If he thought this was at all strange, then the haziness of his memory helped him forget about it.

But the biggest change quite easily had to be in the Dursleys! It was like, for the first time in his whole life, he had a proper home life. Even the memories of his childhood, when they had done everything in their power to make his life miserable seemed to have happened to another child. He was happier at the Dursley's than he had ever been before. And it didn't even unnerve him. He had spent his whole life looking for a family. And here were the Dursleys, finally taking that place. They talked to him like they did to Dudley. They fed him proper meals, allowed him to watch TV with them; even put a TV into his room like the one Dudley had in his.

Instead of stalking him around the park, waiting for a chance to attack him, Dudley was even being nice to him, allowing him access to his extensive computer game and DVD collection. Harry found himself having long conversations with Dudley about football teams, remembering someone he had once known had supported West Ham, a team Dudley summarily dismissed as rubbish. It was fascinating, like learning a new sport all over again. Dudley even went as far as to introduce him to his friends. They, however, clearly didn't like Harry one bit, going on and on about some place called St Brutus school for criminally insane boys or something. How was he to know what it was like to attend such a place when he'd never heard of it before? Dudley obviously saw his discomfort because he told the boys to shut it, and then pulled Harry away, much to the surprise of the boys in the group it seemed.

When they finally got back to Privet Drive, Dudley looked very pale. 'What's up, Dudley?'

'Oh, nothing.' Dudley, if anything, looked even more nervous now, looking around, behind him, as if he was scared that something was about to attack him from behind.

Harry, feeling his nervousness, looked over his shoulder too, wondering what he was meant to be looking for. It wasn't like Dudley had any enemies that he was aware of. Dudley was far too intimidating for that. Finally Dudley found his key, getting the door open and ushering Harry inside.

'Mum! Dad!' Dudley yelled. Harry looked at him in surprise. It was a given that there was no yelling in the house. Aunt Petunia was going to have her nut at him.

'What? What is it?' Uncle Vernon asked, poking his head out of the lounge.

'Uh.' Dudley started, very eloquently, gesturing at Harry not so subtlety with his head.

'Well, Dudley?' Vernon asked, getting impatient now. He never had had much patience, Harry thought. Although for some reason it seemed strange that his impatience was directed at Dudley. For some reason it felt like it should be directed at him.

Dudley again gestured at Harry, this time with both his head and his thumb, and said in a rather loud whisper. 'They were asking about him.'

Harry, who was completely lost, now, over what was wrong with Dudley was surprised to see a look of comprehension dawn on Uncle Vernon's face. 'Harry, why don't you go and start setting the table? It's almost dinner time.'

Harry looked once more between Dudley, who still looked pale, and Uncle Vernon, who was trying to encourage him out of the hallway. 'That's right, we'll be right there, Harry.' He said, seeing Harry to the kitchen, and closing the door firmly on him.

Harry put his ear to the door, trying to hear any words said between the two, but on hearing only silence, withdrew and started reluctantly to do as he'd been asked and lay the table. He was only confused further when he sat down to the dinner with the Dursleys, to everyone pretending nothing was wrong. Harry was desperate to ask questions. What was going on? Where was St Brutus and why did the boy think he went there? But something about the Dursley's, and especially Uncle Vernon's body language stopped the questions dead on his lips.

Ginny watched Ron pace with a grin of amusement. It was late morning, and Ron had spent almost all the time since breakfast looking between his watch and the fireplace, that Hermione wasn't actually due to arrive via till midday. She was happy Hermione was coming; they were good friends and Ginny was looking forward to hearing about the older girls holiday in Spain. They'd had one postcode, delivered by a very bemused muggle postman, who clearly found the fact that the house was still standing one of amazement. The picture, unmoving, which was always a novelty, showed a donkey with a straw hat, with "wish you were here" scrawled across the corner.

The note had been short, to the point, mostly about the weather, and the fact that there was a local wizarding community Hermione was planning to visit. Even so, Ron, Ginny was sure, slept with the postcard under his pillow considering she hadn't seen it since, even though it had been addressed to the both of them.

Ginny stifled a giggle as Ron made a sharp turn, stumbling slightly on the edge of the thick rug. Ron stopped and glared at her. 'What's so funny?' he demanded.

Ginny couldn't stifle it anymore and laughed out loud, not helped by the fact that it just made Ron glare more. 'Oh, I'm sorry,' Ginny eventually managed to splutter, finally pulling herself together, 'it's just you've been pacing all morning, even though Hermione's not due till midday, and you keep muttering to yourself while you walk.'

Ron was not only muttering now, but had turned bright red. 'I just want to see Harry, is all. Goodness knows what those muggles are up to.'

'Yeah, that's all.' Ginny drawled.

'Anyway, I'd thought you'd be anxious to hear about how lover boy's getting on.' Ron commented, finally taking a seat in the armchair to the side of the couch Ginny was sitting on.

Ginny refused to rise to the bait, ignoring the rib over her old crush on Harry. It no longer bothered her when people joked about him. She couldn't quite say that he no longer bothered her, but that was what she was aiming for. She was a firm friend now, able to talk to him without turning scarlet, without a single stutter. Hermione's advice on getting on with her life, even dating other boys had helped her get over the crippling nature of her crush, even if she didn't think she'd ever truly be over him. Especially when Harry had started to show more of an interest in her, even if it was only in the platonic sense, over the last school year. She was saved from having to answer by a brief flare from the fireplace, and Hermione stepping carefully through. 'You're here!' Ron yelled happily, standing up and grabbing Hermione in a hug before letting go and blushing again at his own exuberance.

'Hey Ron, Ginny.' Hermione said, her own grin firmly in place, stooping down to give Ginny a hug also.

They small talked for a moment, about Hermione's holiday, her tan which Ginny gave a long admiring glance at, before looking at her own pasty white skin that refused to do anything but burn in the sun, before Hermione asked how Harry was.

Ron shrugged. 'He's sending the letters to the Order as instructed, every three days like clockwork, but they might as well be stamped to the variance in them.'

'Let me guess: "I'm fine, Dursley's fine, when can I come there?"' Hermione guessed.

'All apart from the last bit. He stopped asking when he could come after he never got an answer. Mum keeps badgering Dumbledore about it.'

'At least they're letting us visit him.' Hermione commented. 'When are we going?'

'This afternoon if you're up for it.'

'Of course.'

'Mum's already put together a whole hamper of food.' Ron said, standing up and dragging Hermione up off the sofa by the hand. Ron continued talking to Hermione as they walked up the stairs of the Burrow, leaving Ginny sitting alone on the sofa, listening to their receding voices. 'Guess I'm not invited, then.' She said bitterly to the empty room.

'What was that dear?' Mrs Weasley asked, bustling in from the kitchen.

'Nothing, mum.'

'Did I just hear Hermione? Where's Ron? I've got that food package for them to take.'

Ginny groaned as she buried her head into the sofa cushion.

Harry looked around, satisfied at his now tidy room. It had taken him the best part of the afternoon to get it all straightened up, enough to satisfy even Aunt Petunia's distinctive eye. Even Hedwig had a tidy cage, much to her discernment considering Harry had chucked out the dead mouse she'd brought back from the hunt with her sometime during the night. She'd been glaring at him ever since, and kept pecking at his ears whenever he stood still enough for her to land on him.

The reason for his mass tidy was lying neatly folded on his desk. Hedwig had delivered the parchment just that morning. It was from Ron, scrawled very quickly if the amount of ink blotches was anything to go by.

_H, _it had started, _be ready by 3. Will have guest in tow. Don't let the muggles get you down. R_

Either his luck was turning, and he'd be out of here at 3, or more likely, Dumbledore was actually taking note of some of the things he'd said during the turbulent past year, and was sending Ron and Hermione along to appease him. Harry had an inkling it was the latter, and seeing as however much the Dursleys seemed to be trying to actually get along with him, he didn't think they'd tolerate two school friends of his wandering the house. Hence his now tidy room. Hermione, after all, had never visited before, and she didn't need to know his room was normally a hovel.

He looked at his watch, before remembering that it still didn't work, and he still hadn't replaced it and looked at his alarm clock. It was just after two, Harry saw, before ducking quickly to avoid another attack from Hedwig. 'Go out and hunt if you're that bothered!' Harry said to her, chuckling. Hedwig landed on her perch and turned her back on him, obviously in a mood now.

Harry laughed as he started down stairs to go and rustle up some snacks. He had the house to himself; Uncle Vernon was at work, Aunt Petunia was out shopping, and Dudley was probably terrorising some little kids in the park.

He got to the bottom of the stairs, and stopped. What had he come downstairs for again? However much he racked his brain, he couldn't for the life of him remember what he had been coming to get. He looked around, searching for any clue from his completely blank brain, before giving up and wandering into the lounge to watch some TV.

An hour later and he was staring in shock at Ron and Hermione, standing on his doorstep, as his two separate lives collided on his doorstep. 'Ron! Hermione! What are you doing here?'

Hermione grinned at him, stepping forward and giving him a brief hug. 'Hi Harry!'

Ron, though, was frowning in thought. 'Didn't you get my note?'

'What note?' Harry asked, sweeping them inside with a habitual glance behind them at the quiet street beyond.

Ron shook his head. 'Doesn't matter. We weren't meant to warn you anyway. Just thought it would give you something to look forward to. Should have given Hedwig more time to deliver it.'

Harry turned to Ron, a confused look on his face now. 'But Hedwig's upstairs.' He said. But he didn't give Ron a chance to comment on this as he carried on, a gross look on his face now. 'Never guess what she brought back from her hunt last night- a dead mouse! I had to clear it out this morning.'

He led them upstairs, missing the confused looks Ron and Hermione shared behind him as they followed him up. 'Anyway, what are you doing here?' He asked, again not giving them a chance to answer as he carried on talking, more than Ron and Hermione had heard him talk all in one go before. 'Lucky I cleaned my room today- didn't realise I'd be having visitors. You timed it well, though; all the Dursleys are out at the moment, so you don't have to worry about them seeing you.'

Ron managed to interrupt then. 'How are they treating you?'

'Who?'

'…The Dursleys.' Ron asked, wondering what they were missing. Or what Harry was missing. He glanced over at Hermione who looked equally perplexed.

'Oh them. They're fine. They're even talking to me.'

'Wow- that's progress.' Hermione said approvingly. 'That warning from Moody must have done some good.'

Harry didn't answer, but Hermione caught a slightly puzzled look on his face before he smiled at her suddenly. He opened the door to his room with a flourish- 'welcome to my humble abode.' He said with a bow, ushering them inside. Ron grinned at Harry's obvious good humour, whilst Hermione watched Harry closely, wondering what had become of the angry man from last year. It was such a sudden turn around from what they had put up with. Ron, obviously, was just glad for the change, chatting away animatedly with Harry about Quidditch, or something, but Hermione was feeling uneasy. She had been expecting Harry to be grieving for his Godfather. To perhaps be even worse than he had been last year, given the events at the Ministry. It was such a sudden change in personality. While the boys chatted, Hermione wandered the room, convincing Hedwig to turn around so that she could stroke her soft plume, before stopping by Harry's desk, not surprised by the absence of anything even faintly to do with school work. She looked down at the piece of parchment, rolled up on the desk, no name on the front. Hermione wondered who was writing to Harry if he hadn't got Ron's letter. Everyone connected to the Order, after all, was under strict instruction not to, due to the risk of it being intercepted en route, or worse, being followed to it's destination.

Hermione looked up from where she was looking out of the window, aware of silence now filling the room. She looked back at the two boys, who were watching her with amused looks on their faces.

'Does it meet with Madame's approval?' Harry asked in a very bad French accent.

'Not quite Madam Maxine, mate.' Ron said, looking at Hermione who had turned a critical eye on the room, both of them missing the momentary confused look on Harry's face.

'I was going for Poirot.' He muttured, looking at Hermione. He suddenly felt in a bad mood, but he couldn't explain what had suddenly annoyed him, or why. 'I know, not exactly The Ritz.' He said to Hermione, who was about to make, what she considered anyway, an amusing comment. The bitter tone to Harry's words stung momentarily, although seeing as this was more like what they'd have to put up with last year, she was well practiced in ignoring Harry's mood. It even made her feel better, the uneasy feeling dissipating.

'It's better than it was, mate.' Ron answered. 'You've even got one of those box thingies that muggles watch now.'

'Television.' Hermione supplied absently, watching Harry.

'But I've always had a TV.' Harry said, looking over at the TV on a wall stand in the corner, complete with DVD player, wondering why Ron would think this was something new.

'Oh…really?' Ron asked, looking at it critically himself. 'I don't remember it being there.'

'Anyway, you two should be going. Aunt Petunia will be back soon, and I don't want her to catch you here.'

'Don't worry about it, mate. The Order will have something to say if they try anything.' Ron said, not looking like he was even thinking of moving.

'No, Ron. I don't want to provoke them anymore than I have to. I don't need them on my back for the rest of the holidays- I've just got them being civilised with me.'

'Come on, Ron.' Hermione agreed, pulling a reluctant Ron up by the hand. 'Harry has to live with them, after all.'

Harry nodded his thanks to Hermione for being sensible.

They got to the front door, which Harry opened, looking around nervously at the street. 'Well, goodbye then.' He said to them both, his body language suddenly stiff, cold to them.

'Yeah…you never know, maybe we'll see you again before the summers out- we'll work on Dumbledore for you.' Ron told him, not seeming to notice the sudden change that had come over Harry.

'Bye Harry.' Hermione said, wanting to hug him goodbye, but noticing the change in him enough to not bother. 'Hope we get to see you again real soon. We'll send over something good for your birthday, at least.'

'Bye.' Was all the answer she got, as Harry made it quite clear they needed to be going now. Ron and Hermione wandered slowly up the street, the door to Number 4 Privet Drive firmly closed.

'Well that was rather…abrupt.' Hermione commented as they walked to Mrs Figg's house, from where they could floo back to the Burrow.

'The muggles are obviously due back.' Ron said. 'Well, mum will be glad- she was worried they'd be starving him or something. He seems alright, doesn't he?'

Hermione didn't answer straight away, as Mrs Figg greeted them, offering them tea and cake which they politely declined before they flooed, one after the other, to the Burrow. Hermione looked around, and seeing they were quite alone in the lounge, carried on as if they hadn't been interrupted. 'You don't think that Harry was…too happy?' She asked, looking down on Ron who had taken a seat on the squashy sofa.

'Too happy? Hermione, he's been a miserable sod all year, give him a break.'

'Exactly, Ron.' Hermione said, quietly, as she sat down next to him on the sofa. 'He spends all year being miserable, then watches Sirius die, and suddenly he's happy? That's not right.'

'What are you saying, Hermione?' Ron asked, watching her intently now.

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh. 'I don't know. It's just, something doesn't feel right.'

'Maybe he was just, you know, covering it up.'

'Covering it rather well.' Hermione commented. 'Although…he did seem more like himself by the end- you know, when he chucked us out.'

'See, it was all just an act. He probably wanted us to enjoy the visit, not be down in the dumps about it. It is the first time you've visited him, after all.'

'Yeah, but…' Hermione trailed off. What Ron was saying made sense, but she couldn't get over the feeling that something was wrong with the whole situation.

'Look, Hermione,' Ron said, laying a hand over Hermione's, 'we would know if something was terribly wrong- Harry would have let us, or the Order, know by now. And I'm sure Dumbledore is monitoring him as well.'

Hermione was still looking slightly sceptical, despite Ron mentioning their esteemed headmaster's name. 'But-'

'We'll visit him, again, ok? We'll talk to mum after dinner- she seems to know how to approach Dumbledore. We'll keep an eye on him. But you know he's safe there from, you know, You Know Who.' He hissed the last part.

Hermione wanted to protest further, but was interrupted by a raucous cry from the kitchen, and the twins running into the lounge.

'Ah, look Fred.' George said in a stage whisper. 'The luuurve birds are here.'

'Knock it off.' Ron growled, snatching his hand from Hermione's even though the twins couldn't possibly see from where they were standing where he had had his hand. Even if they couldn't, the colour Ron was currently turning clued them in pretty quickly.

'Oh, are Ron and Hermione back?' Whatever teasing they were about to get down to, though, was interrupted by Mrs Weasley bustling in. 'I didn't hear you floo. How's Harry?'

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look. 'Ok.' Ron finally said. 'Looks like the Muggles are treating him better, anyway.'

'So I should think so! Poor love.' Mrs Weasley tutted, wiping some imaginary dust from a sideboard. 'Well, the sooner we get him away from them the better. The things that happened at the Ministry! And losing Sirius like that. I can't imagine how he's coping.'

'He seems to be doing fine.' Ron said truthfully, with a shrug.

'That's what Harry will always try and have you believe.' Fred commented.

Hermione smiled at that. That was certainly true. In the middle of the Weasley's, the uneasy feeling was going quickly. Harry was just covering. As soon as they got back to Hogwarts, everything would go back to normal. Although, if Harry returned without the temper he had had last year, Hermione would not be complaining.

'Now, Hermione, I presume you'll be staying for dinner?' Mrs Weasley didn't wait for her to agree, before turning to Fred and George, telling them to go and set the table, as she called upstairs for Ginny.

After dinner, Ginny sought out Hermione, who was watching Ron and Mr Weasley play a fast moving game of Wizard's Chess. She sunk down into the chair next to her, breaking Hermione's concentration from the game. 'So, how was he really?' Ginny asked.

Hermione shrugged. 'What Ron was saying was true-' Ron had filled his dad in at dinner about their visit to Harry. 'He really seemed okay.'

'But you don't think he was.' Ginny said quietly, perceptively.

Hermione paused for a moment before shaking her head slightly. 'I don't think it will ever be that easy. He spent all of last year flying off the handle at the slightest thing, and suddenly, being back at the Dursley's is the best thing? Something doesn't make sense.'

'Perhaps he is just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.' Ginny suggested.

'Or more likely, knowing Harry, covering up what he really feels, hiding it from us.' Hermione said. Now that she was talking about it again, thinking over that strange afternoon, the uneasy feeling returned with a vengeance.

'You know what really got to me, though?' Hermione continued. 'Right at the end, there was such an abrupt change in his attitude. I got used to him flying off the handle at everything last year, but this was completely different- it was as if …' She trailed off. 'I can't describe it.' She finished lamely.

Ginny was staring at her, and Hermione looked around to meet her eye. 'You were going to say it was as if he was under the Imperius.' Ginny finished for her, eyes wide.

Hermione shook her head. 'Harry can throw off the Imperius- he did it in our forth year. No, this was something different, something much more…subtle.'

'What are we going to do about it?'

'I don't know what we can do about it at the moment. The only thing I can think of is to talk to Dumbledore, but I don't know exactly how I'm going to achieve that.'

'He's due here tomorrow night- the Order is meeting here. I heard Mum and Dad talking about it.' Ginny told her quietly.

'Think you can invite me around for dinner?'

'No problem. Do you think Dumbledore will do anything?'

Hermione could only shrug at this. 'Who knows? There has to be a reason why Harry has to spend the summer at the Dursley's, I know that much. But hopefully, we can at least convince him to let us visit again.'

Ginny was about to comment that it would be nice to see Harry, but Hermione's attention had shifted to her brother, who had finished the game of chess by now, narrowly beating his father. Hermione was whispering to Ron, filling him in of her plan to convince Dumbledore. Ron even quickly asked his mother if Hermione could come over the next night so that they could work on some schoolwork together. His mother, predictably on the mention of homework and actually doing it, agreed straight away, even inviting Hermione over for dinner. Hermione grinned triumphantly at Ginny. Ginny managed a small strained smile in return. Not that anyone noticed. Hermione and Ron were already discussing how they could get Dumbledore to agree to them seeing Harry again.

It turned out to be slightly simpler than either Ron or Hermione were expecting. Hermione had barely started in on voicing her concerns when Dumbledore had jump started the pleas, and told them they could visit in three days time.

Hermione had been gearing up all day, practicing her speech so that it flowed naturally through all the points of their concerns, keeping her tone objective as possible, before ending that it would be in Harry's best interests for them to visit again soon. Having this all pre-empted by Dumbledore agreeing before she'd even got past the first point left her staring rather unattractively at their headmaster. Ginny had to cough back a giggle. Hermione snapped her mouth closed abruptly, sitting back on her chair in the Burrow kitchen, frowning at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore looked back at her evenly. 'You are wondering why I have agreed so quickly?' He asked his voice tinged with amusement.

'I did think you would take more persuading.' Hermione grudgingly agreed.

'I may be old, Miss Granger, but I have tried to learn from past experiences. Shutting Harry away for the summer as if he is being punished for something is not how I want to treat him. You are his friends, and I fear in the coming days he will need all of you more than ever.'

'I hope they are not bothering you, Professor Dumbledore.' Mrs Weasley interrupted their conversation, bustling into the kitchen.

'Not at all, Molly, not at all.'

'Good.' Mrs Weasley fixed the children with a pointed stare. 'Come on children, it's almost time for the meeting.'

However much they bristled about being called children, Mrs Weasley successfully shooed them from the downstairs of the Burrow. They headed off to Ron's room, Hermione true to Ron's word at least, lugging a huge tomb of a book up the stairs with her. Ginny smiled at Ron's complaints, joining them in his bedroom, her own homework spread around her, listening with half an ear to the usual argumentative banter between the two. When they would stop with the verbal foreplay, and just get on with the snogging, Ginny had a long running bet with her other brothers about. She was down for the next Yule Ball. Because not even Ron was dense enough to not invite Hermione straight away after what had happened. Then again…she took an appraising look at her brother, who was trying to make Hermione laugh by tickling her under the nose with his quill…this was Ron they were talking about. Fred and George had wanted to take the betting one step further, and get a location bet going as well. Fred was all for the library, Hermione's favourite dwelling place. George had disagreed, saying it would be in the common room, in front of everyone. They'd ended up having quite the fascinating conversation on where was the best place to hide in Hogwarts. Ginny had certainly paid attention to that, because even with how well she thought she knew the castle, there were still a few goodies thrown out by the twins, and Bill, who had been there to appease Mrs Weasley's pleas for him to visit more often. Ginny was going to see the castle in a whole different light when she got back there in September. Now, if only she could encourage Harry to get a clue and join her, her life would be complete.

She must have sighed out loud, because when she looked up at the sudden silence, she found Ron and Hermione looking at her with questioning look. 'What's the sigh for, Ginny? Do you need help with the essay? What are you working on?'

Ginny looked down at the essay she was meant to be writing for History of Magic, realising that she hadn't written so much as a word in the last ten minutes, and she'd managed to drip ink from her quill right in the middle of the piece of parchment. 'The Goblins had cause to rebel in 1576-discuss.' Ginny read off her essay title.

'What have you managed to find out so far?' Hermione asked, looking interested.

'That this is really boring?' Ginny suggested, to Ron's obvious amusement.

'What?' Hermione asked, sounding scandalised. 'The Goblin rebellions are fascinating.'

'Only to you, Hermione. Only to you.' Ron said, patting her on the shoulder. 'What does the Phillick shrub do again?' He added, looking at his own essay, not giving Hermione any time to think over what Ron had just said about her.

Ginny flashed her brother a grateful look. Maybe he wasn't as thick as he tried to make out to be. Then again… 'What are you guys working on? You haven't even got your OWLs, yet.' Ginny asked, curiously, referring to the Ordinary Wizarding Level exams that Ron and Hermione, along with Harry had taken at the end of the last year. They would be moving onto the NEWTs (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests) in September, and until they had the results of the OWLs, the classes they could take were unknown to a certain degree. (unless you were Hermione and could therefore guarantee Outstandings in every subject) And they certainly wouldn't have been set any homework for them.

Ron smiled knowingly at her. 'Who said we were doing homework?'

'That's what you told mum, yesterday.'

'No, I said we were doing school work.' Ron said, cryptically.

He got a slap round the arm from Hermione for his troubles. 'Stop being such a prat. We're working on some things for the DA.'

Ginny looked surprised at this. 'You think it'll carry on, even though Umbridge will be gone? There won't be much need, will there?'

'Well, hopefully the Defence Against the Dark Arts will be better taught this year.' Hermione said with a sniff, as if she was taking the poor teaching standards set by Umbridge last year as a personal insult. Which she probably was, Ginny mused. 'However, there's always going to be room for extra lessons. Especially with Voldemort growing in strength all the time. Hopefully, at least, this year it can be an official school club.'

'Have you discussed this with Harry, yet?' Ginny wanted to know.

'Not yet. Haven't had much chance to.' Ron said. 'But I'm sure he'll see the necessity of this at the moment. He would be the first to encourage people to learn how to defend themselves.'

Ginny knew he had a point. She looked over their work, as Hermione explained what lessons they had been creating up. They were certainly creative in what they had been doing, and Ginny learned quite a lot from both Hermione and Ron that evening about methods of defence.

_Read it? please review!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Once again, characters don't belong to me, no harm intended._

Three days out of a long summer is not a considerable length of time, but for Ginny it felt like forever. She didn't know why. It wasn't the first summer that Harry had been forced into staying at the Dursleys, however much the Weasleys wanted him to stay. It wasn't the first time Ginny had wished he could come over to stay, and not only because it got him away from the Dursleys. Although, it would probably be the first year that she could be around Harry in the Burrow and not trip over her own two feet or something equally stupid. Finally, after so long having a crush on him, Ginny had learnt how to just be a friend with Harry. That wasn't to say that the crush had gone completely. Or perhaps the crush had gone, but there were certainly feelings there that didn't strictly fall into a friendship category. She was fairly certain after all, that Hermione, in all the years she had known Harry, had never spent any great length of time wondering what was underneath his robes. (if she had, then Ginny really didn't want to know, anyway.)

But these feelings weren't new; she'd had a crush on Harry since she'd first met him on the station platform, the year before she had started at Hogwarts. Boy, had she been jealous of Ron then. No, they weren't anything new. Different perhaps, but she'd certainly gotten past the shy and awkward phase with him.

She couldn't pin point why she was anxious for the visit. It wasn't like she was going- Ron and Hermione had certainly not included her on any plans they had in visiting Harry. And it wasn't like they were expecting him anytime soon. Dumbledore had made it perfectly clear that Harry was to remain with his aunt for the time being. And Ginny didn't think she'd be feeling like this, if he were coming. She would be a little nervous perhaps, but mostly she'd be looking forward to seeing him again. She certainly wouldn't be feeling like this, like for some inexplicable reason, something was wrong.

Something was always wrong with Harry, after all. Whether it was taking part in school tournament two years too early, or being portkeyed into Voldemort's resurrection party, or dreaming through Voldemort's eyes, or watching your godfather die before you. And that was all in the last two school years. Trouble certainly liked following Harry around, and making his life suitably miserable. Maybe that was all. Maybe Ginny was just feeling especially empathic towards Harry at the moment. And however he had behaved with Ron and Hermione, Ginny knew he'd still be feeling grief over Sirius's death, and knowing Harry, not without a large portion of guilt thrown in as well. She was more excited than either Ron or Hermione as they got ready to floo to Mrs Figg's, although she did her best to remain calm and outwardly composed. She just needed to hear from the others that everything was all right, and then she could get on with enjoying the holidays as they deserved to be enjoyed after the events of the last school year.

Hermione stepped gracefully out of the fireplace, accepting the hand Ron had put out to help her, even if she didn't really need it. She greeted Mrs Figg, who was enjoying her afternoon tea, and they made polite small talk for a few minutes before excusing themselves and walking out into the overcast day. It had yet to rain, but the sky was heavy with potential. Hermione looked skyward, at the dark, scurrying clouds, and wondered what had happened of the summer this year. She tagged after Ron as they made their way down Privet Drive, excited to be able to see Harry again, and after a relatively short time, but also slightly anxious. However much she had tried to ignore it after the last visit, something hadn't been right. Hermione was desperate to believe it was all down to grieving for lost godparents, but something deep down wasn't convinced that that was all it was. And it was this that caused her stomach to clench into a small knot the further up Privet Drive they walked. Ron, for once, appeared to notice her mood, and slowed down so that they were walking side by side. For once he didn't offer words in comfort, or otherwise, but offered her a small smile, and took her hand, giving it a quick squeeze. It was such a small gesture, but it helped loosen the knot slightly anyway.

Ron was desperate to say something, anything to Hermione. He knew she was starting to feel anxious about the visit, especially after last time, and Ron wanted to be able to tell her not to worry, that everything would work out just fine, and Harry would be back to being a moody git, and life, or at least the school holidays could get back to normal. But something inside Ron wouldn't voice the words out loud. The part of him that didn't truly believe that he was right on this. Hermione wasn't the only one who had noticed that something was wrong last time. But Ron wasn't willing, or perhaps able, to put into words why Harry being in a good mood was bad. So he'd gone with it, tried to enjoy the time with his best friend, willing to over look anything to just having his best friend at least looking ok whilst staying with the Dursleys. Anyway, wasn't it a girl thing to discuss feelings and emotions? He and Harry had never really gone down that road before- Harry wasn't known for sharing any of these feeling with anyone. They usually went down the "yep, this is totally screwed, lets go play some Quidditch" route instead.

It was so much easier being a boy, Ron had decided long ago, and wasn't particularly inclined to revise that statement anytime soon. You knew where you were with boys. Girls were another matter entirely. Ron just didn't get them. Their moods, their emotions, their words that were loaded with subtext. Why couldn't they say what they meant instead of saying one thing, but meaning something else entirely all along? He especially didn't get Hermione. What she thought about him being his number one brooding topic of the moment. He brought his mind quickly back from there as they approached Privet Drive. Now was not the time to start thinking about that. Although in her well fitting jeans, and fitted t-shirt, Ron certainly didn't mind thinking about that.

Number 4, Privet Drive looked as compulsively neat as ever. Like last time, there was no car in the driveway, and they both hoped that Harry would be alone in the house. It would be so much easier to talk without having to run the gauntlet of the Dursley's first. Hermione reached out for the doorbell, which was just like one Ron's dad had in his shed. Ron's dad had had an interest and love for anything muggle for a long time, a passion that Ron didn't share. What was the point in a bell anyway? What was wrong with knocking? He didn't have time to ask this, however, as the door was answered.

Ron had known Harry for five years. Had grown up with him through all the normal, and not so normal, happenings of teenage life. They'd talked about kissing girls, Quidditch, school work, shaving, being killed by Voldemort, and Ron had seen Harry with every emotion he could think of. He'd seen him triumphant at Quidditch, and almost broken by death, but the look on Harry's face now was about the scariest of the lot. There was just no recognition there, not even a spark of remembrance.

'Hello?' Harry asked them, a questioning look coming to his face.

Both Ron and Hermione starred at him. 'Harry?' Hermione finally answered. 'Are you all right?'

The boy appeared confused as to why they were asking him if he was all right, and was even more confused how the two knew who he was. 'Can I help you?' He finally asked, thinking quick on his feet. 'My aunt will be home soon.' He added, just in case that was who these two were really after.

The red headed boy looked round at his brunette companion, seeming at a lost for words. 'Harry?' He tried this time, his voice sparking a slight sense of déjà vu but nothing more in Harry.

Before Harry could ask how they knew his name, though, a car pulled up outside of the house. Harry looked beyond the pair, who were still looking at him like he'd lost his marbles, and grinned as he recognised Aunt Petunia and Dudley getting out of the car. He looked back at the other two, who still couldn't seem to decide what to do, 'that's my aunt there.' He pointed out, trying to be helpful.

'Harry, dear, who are these people?' The slim blond woman called as she walked up the driveway towards them. Ron and Hermione looked behind them and missed the slight shrug Harry gave to his aunt as if to say, don't know, don't particularly care, either. 'Oh. Why don't I see what they want, and you go and put the kettle on dear?' She suggested in what might have been thought of as a warm and motherly way.

Harry complied, turning round and disappearing into the house. Ron and Hermione were looking at Mrs Dursley properly now, an angry look starting to bloom on Hermione's face. 'What have you done to him?' She hissed at the older woman.

'Dudley, go inside and try on your new uniform dear.' Mrs Dursley said, with a more strained motherly tone to it, shoving her son, with no small amount of effort, past Ron and Hermione who were still standing on the doorstep, and through the doorway. Only after he was in, did she turn to the two teenagers. 'You shouldn't have come here.' She said accusingly.

'What. Have. You. Done. To. Him?' Hermione seethed again.

'Something that should have been done a long time ago.' Mrs Dursley stated, looking coldly certain of whatever had happened. 'Harry isn't…abnormal anymore. He will start a proper school in September. And he won't be seeing any of you lot again. Now go. Leave my family alone.'

'WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?' Hermione yelled this time. 'If you've hurt him' she threatened.

'Don't be a stupid little girl. I wouldn't hurt my family.'

This sentence only confused them all the more. Since when had any of the Dursley's ever seen Harry as part of the family? And before Hermione could think anymore, Mrs Dursley stepped into the house, and roundly slammed the door in their faces.

'What the-' Ron started, Hermione ignoring him, thinking quickly. They had two choices- to stay and try and get more answers, or go and get help. Harry didn't appear in immediate danger, at any rate, whatever was going on. Hermione knew the only good they could do now, was making sure the right people knew what was happening- which meant Dumbledore had to know. And the only way was to go to him now. Hermione turned, grabbed Ron's hand and took off down Privet drive.

Neither of them noticed Mrs Figg's very stunned look as they ran through her front room with barely a glance. They were both in such a hurry that they were dumped out of the floo onto the living room floor at The Burrow, coughing through the ash that had been dumped with them.

'Ronald Weasley! How many times do I have to tell you to-' Whatever complaint was about to cross Mrs Weasley's lips was stopped dead as the two teenagers in front of her jumped to their feet, Ron so pale that his freckled seemed to stand out all the more brightly. 'What is it?' She asked instead. 'Is Harry ok?'

'No. We need Dumbledore now.' Hermione said urgently.

'That aunt of his' Ron seethed beside her, his face growing red with anger now.

'What happened?' Mrs Weasley asked, still moving far too slowly for either of their liking. 'Is he in danger?'

'Yes!' Hermione exclaimed impatiently, forgetting herself in her worry. 'Please, Mrs Weasley, Harry's in trouble, and we need Professor Dumbledore now!'

'Ok.' Mrs Weasley said, finally starting to rush now, as she walked hurriedly to the floo, taking a pinch of floo power and sticking her head into the fire. 'Albus Dumbledore.' They heard her say clearly. After an agonising wait, they finally heard Dumbledore answer Mrs Weasley. 'There is an emergency with Harry…Ron and Hermione…please come.' She said, missing details that she didn't know. 'Please.' She added in a plea, because she didn't know details, but she knew her son, and she knew Hermione well enough to know that something was very wrong.

They heard only a low grumble in reply, before Mrs Weasley got up from the fire, standing aside to allow Professor Dumbledore to follow her through. Ron found himself suddenly on the receiving end of a piercing stare from deadly serious blue eyes. He gulped. He could feel Hermione shaking next to him, and knew he wasn't the only one who was not only afraid of whatever was happening with Harry, but also to suddenly be stood in front of their extremely powerful headmaster. It was only belatedly that Ron realised none of that was aimed at him and Hermione, but was just a reaction to hearing something was wrong. 'Mr Weasley, Miss Granger…' Professor Dumbledore prompted, the niceties of greeting put aside for now.

Any comprehensible words fled Ron's mind immediately, but luckily he was standing next to Hermione. 'Something's wrong with Harry.'

Ron rolled his eyes at the obviousness of this statement.

'Why don't you start at the beginning?' Dumbledore suggested calmly.

Ron felt Hermione pull in a deep, ragged breath, before starting again, her voice more calm this time. 'We flooed to Mrs Figg's, and then walked down Privet Drive. There wasn't any car in the driveway, and we were hopeful that Harry was alone.'

Ron was silently hurrying Hermione along, but knew better than to interrupt.

'Harry answered the door almost immediately, but…something was wrong, Harry didn't seem to recognise us at all, he just stared at us, and asked if he could help, then said something about his aunt being home soon. At first I wondered if Harry was joking or… I don't know pretending because of his family or something, but it wasn't fake- Harry had no idea who we were. Then his aunt and Dudley came home, and Harry was really pleased to see them, and his aunt got the two boys into the house before turning to us and saying that she had got rid of Harry's abnormality, and not before time, and that he would be starting a proper school in September, and then she said something really weird, she referred to Harry as her family, and said that she would never hurt her family.' Hermione stopped, took a much needed breath, and then her face fell, and tears started falling down her face as she collapsed on one of the sofas.

Mrs Weasley immediately rushed over to her, shushing her before looking up at Dumbledore. 'What's going on?'

'I don't know.' Dumbledore said, for the first time since Ron could remember looking very concerned. 'I must go, immediately. Please put out the word of a meeting tonight, Molly, at the Headquarters. Let's say at eight.'

'Right away.'

And with that he was gone, stepping into the fire and disappearing before Ron could hear his destination. He turned to his mum and Hermione, who was still crying on the sofa, now berating herself for leaving and not doing anything. Mrs Weasley was speaking calmly to her, telling her that she did the right thing, that she got help. That was all she should have done. Ron suddenly looked up, looking over to the foot of the stairs, right into Ginny's shocked eyes. Without asking, Ron knew Ginny had heard every word just said.

For the next few hours, Ron, Hermione and Ginny alternated between long periods of uncomfortable silence, and feverish chattering. Hermione's natural instinct was to turn to her beloved books, to research any possible causes. Denied this, she chatted incessantly at every likely and unlikely cause until Ginny, getting irritated, told her to shut up. Ron had joined in with some of Hermione's theories, but had fallen silent long before Hermione. Now they sat around the kitchen, out of the way of Mrs Weasley who was cleaning in the living room. Ron and Ginny both knew their mother, and that when she was worried, she fussed, and if she couldn't do that (she'd already offered them food and drink and snacks a dozen times) she turned to cleaning to burn off the stress.

'Shouldn't there be some news by now?' Ginny finally said into the silence. Ron agreed. It felt like forever since they'd come back from Harry's. All Ron could see when he closed his eyes, was the lack of recognition in Harry's face. Feeling brave, Ron got up from the table, and walked into the sitting room.

'Do you want something to eat, Ron? Or a drink?' Mrs Weasley asked him, her words coming out sounding very distracted as she polished the side board within an inch of it's life.

Ron didn't think it would be helpful to point out if he did, he'd just come from the kitchen, and was more than capable of helping himself (As he often did). 'No, we were just wondering, is there anyway we could find out some news- it's been hours.'

Mrs Weasley finally stopped working for a moment, looking up properly at Ron, shaking her head. 'But I don't think it'll be long.' She said, trying to sound optimistic.

Ron appreciated the effort. He made to go back to the kitchen, but stopped at the door. 'Something really bad has happened, hasn't it?' He asked, trying hard to keep the tremor out of his voice.

Mrs Weasley ran a hand over her face, and didn't seem able to answer straight away. 'Let's just wait for more information, shall we?' She suggested eventually, forcing a smile to her lips.

Ron stood for a moment, staring at the fireplace, trying to will it to flare suddenly.

'A watched pot never boils.' Mrs Weasley said quietly, watching him.

Ron sighed, and was just about to go back to the kitchen, when he almost jumped out of his skin as the fire suddenly flared, and a face he didn't recognise appeared in the fire. 'Molly, we need you at Headquarters, now. Arthur's already there.' The man said, before disappearing just as quickly.

For a moment, Molly just stared herself at the empty fireplace, before seeming to come to a decision, turning to Ron. 'Tell Ginny and Hermione to be ready to go in five minutes. Pack things for tonight.' She said, not giving him anytime to reply as she rushed out.

Ten minutes later they were standing outside 12 Grimmauld Place, having portkeyed over using a portkey provided for emergencies by Dumbledore. The door had a new coat of paint, and someone had thought to remove the serpent knocker since the last time they were there. Even the windows looked like they had been cleaned. They were let in, after Molly had given a series of passwords. The hallway had also had a new coat of paint since their last visit, the walls now clear of any screaming portraits. Also gone was the damp, musty smell that had seemed to permeate the house; the house seeming lighter now. It seemed The Order had been busy not only in the search of Voldemort, but also in improving their Headquarters somewhat.

No sooner had they taken in the much improved hallway, they were being ushered towards the stairs by Mrs Weasley. 'But mum- we want to find out about Harry!' Ron protested, trying to get some purchase on the tiled floor to push back against his mum's insistent hands.

'You will find out soon enough. An order meeting is no place for children.' She stopped for a moment, her voice more gentle. 'I will come and let you know as soon as I know something, Ok?'

Ron finally relented, and allowed himself to be propelled upstairs by his mother, noting as he walked upstairs behind Hermione and Ginny, that someone had also thought to remove the stuffed, mounted house elves heads from the wall. The girls dumped their stuff in their room, which had hardly changed since their last visit, before following Ron up to the room he usually shared with Harry. And there they sat, listening desperately to any signs of life from downstairs as they waited impatiently for news.

Something very weird was going on, Harry had decided, long ago. And it had started with those weird people's visit that afternoon. They had looked to be the same age as him, and certainly seemed convinced that they knew him, even though Harry had racked his brains for where he could have met them and had come up empty. And then, ever since then, Aunt Petunia had been acting really weird. She looked anxious, Harry decided. She'd taken over the making of the tea, but her hand had shook so hard that she'd ended up spilling the water everywhere and almost burning herself. She started at the smallest of noises, and looked convinced that something was going to burst through the door at any moment. As soon as Uncle Vernon had shown up, Aunt Petunia had dragged him into the lounge, shutting the door on Harry and Dudley, and must have been whispering because neither could hear anything through the door. About five minutes later, they had come back out, making Harry jump back guiltily from the door, but Petunia didn't seem to notice. Uncle Vernon looked very pale now, Harry saw, as Aunt Petunia smiled brightly at them, and told Harry and Dudley to go and put some clothes together for a weekend away. Harry wondered what sort of weekend started on a Wednesday; didn't Vernon have work tomorrow? Neither he, or Dudley he noted, looked happy at the prospect, but their concerns fell on deaf ears as Aunt Petunia forced them upstairs, and started packing for them. Whilst they were upstairs, Harry heard Uncle Vernon talking on the phone, but was too far away to make out any words.

Before they knew it, Dudley and Harry were sat in the back seat of Uncle Vernon's car, as Vernon sped of through Little Whinging, and onto the M4. The two boys had fallen silent, seeing they weren't going to get anymore information, and the car tense with the silence. Harry knew that this wasn't any old weekend away. He had a feeling this was connected to the two people that had shown up on the doorstep that afternoon, but however much he thought about it, he couldn't work out how two strangers showing up could lead to this jaunt across the motorways of England.

He knew they were heading towards London. Traffic was busy, but at this time of night, most of it was heading out of London, rather that in to it. That all changed as Uncle Vernon pulled onto the M25 and immediately hit a traffic jam. Harry could almost see the steam coming from Uncle Vernon as he tried with limited success to weave in and out of the other cars to go just that little bit quicker, swearing more than once as he was cut up, or not let out. At the next junction Vernon suddenly veered off, heading out onto smaller roads in an effort to lose the traffic, Harry quickly becoming lost as village after village past.

Night was falling by the time uncle Vernon started slowing down. Harry, who had been staring at nothing out of the window, glanced over at Dudley, who had long ago fallen asleep. He looked out at the road they were on, which was lined with trees and didn't appear to have any streetlights. Peering past the rows of trees, Harry could just about see the ghostly outlines of some of the largest houses he had ever seen. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia seemed to be looking for somewhere in particular, craning their necks to read dim house names, finally pulling into the very dark driveway of a house Harry fleetingly read the name of as "Domus Atrum". Harry glanced ahead, but couldn't even see an outline of a house, as Uncle Vernon drove carefully down the long driveway. The house seemed to sneak up on them, suddenly appearing on their left about a quarter of a mile from the road. Dudley woke up as the car came to a stop, and joined Harry in staring at what could only be described as a mansion, with an open mouth.

For a moment, all four of them gaped at the mansion. It was made of dark grey bricks, and looked foreboding in the darkness of night. A large wooden door dominated the front, flanked on either side by darkened windows. Ivy grew up to the right of door, covering the whole of the right side of the house, stretching around the corner of the house. Two gargoyles stood guard on either side of the door, and Harry suddenly had the feeling that they were being watched. The house looked deserted, and they all jumped when the front door slowly swung open, a man standing to guard in its wake. He glared at them, a not very big welcoming, and Harry couldn't help gulping as he beckoned to them. He broke out in a cold sweat as Vernon opened the door. He realised he didn't want to go in there. Really didn't want to go in there. A sense of acute foreboding filled him so suddenly that bile rose in the back of his throat and he had to swallow it away, goosebumps rose on his arm despite the warm summer evening, and a cold shiver made its way down the length of his spine.

'Mum, I want to go home.' Dudley said, his own face looking fearful as all four of them stared at the man still standing in the doorway. 'Please.' The pleading quality to his voice was unlike Dudley, but Harry was thinking of getting in on it himself. He really didn't want to be here.

Aunt Petunia was sat, stock still, staring at the man with the rest of them, looking pale in the reflection from the half moon above them. For a moment, Harry could almost see the internal battle, as she and Vernon shared a long look. Then, it was as if someone had drawn her up by a string in her spine, pulling her straight. She jutted her chin out, looking firm. 'No, we started this, now it's time to end it.'

'End what? Muuum.' Dudley whined. 'Can't we go home. Get back to normal? Please…' Dudley was looking at him, now, with an accusing look that Harry didn't understand. How was this his fault? He was as much in the dark as to why they were here as Dudley was.

'No. We have to end it here. Get our lives back. We agreed.' She looked back at Dudley, her look hard, fixed. Harry wondered what was ending, and didn't like the sick feeling in his stomach that accompanied the thought.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon opened their car doors almost in sync, stepping out onto the gravel driveway with a new, determined crunch. 'Come, you two.' Vernon said, in a tone the two knew not to mess with.

Harry reluctantly opened his own door, stepping out onto the driveway that crunched noisily underfoot, watching his aunt and uncle walking with now confident strides up to the house. With ever slowing steps, Harry set off after them, not understanding this sudden turn in events, why they were suddenly at a deserted house somewhere near London, for a weekend away. How this would end anything. A spark of pain, an ache really, suddenly came to his forehead, Harry shocked to find his scar suddenly painfully flaring. The scar was a remnant of the car accident that had killed his parents, and had never so much as twinged before. Harry slowed even more, as the pressure behind the scar built even more, a warning sign, it seemed, against going any closer. 'Come on Boy!' Vernon yelled at him. Harry looked up at the impersonal term, looking at his uncle, at the sudden ugly angry twist to his face. He took another, reluctant step towards the house, his scar flaring painfully. He pressed a palm briefly against it now, trying to gather his confidence together. He was being stupid- this was just a house, just a house that was a little on the creepy side. His aunt and uncle were both obviously stressed, and needed some time away. And he was now tired, and hadn't had a drink for a while, which explained why he had a headache building; it just happened to be centred on his forehead. But that didn't explain why he was downright terrified of going anywhere closer to that house.

Behind him, Dudley cowered by the car, till he was hastened over by his mother. Uncle Vernon stepped towards Harry, looking threatening now, something Harry couldn't ever remember his uncle doing before. 'Stop meandering, Boy. We haven't got all day.' With that Harry found himself grabbed roughly by the arm, and pulled in the direction of the house, his head now pounding enough to make his eyes water, and for bile once again to rise in the back of his throat. 'Sorry. So sorry.' The sudden meek tone to his Uncle's voice had Harry looking up, catching sight of the man stood at the doorway. It took Harry a moment to realise this was who his uncle was apologising to.

The man was well over six feet tall, dressed to intimidate in all black. Even his hair was black, slicked back from his face to make it shine in the small amount of moonlight. He peered at Harry now, a twisted smile on his thin face. 'We have been waiting.' He announced, his voice silky smooth on the still night air.

Harry was beyond bewildered. Waiting for what? He wanted to ask, but his head was pounding, and his uncle still held on tight to his arm, and he just couldn't seem to make his throat work anymore. The man beckoned them inside, and Harry knew, with every fibre of his being, that he didn't want to go into that house. He didn't want to find out what was beyond the dark doorway the stranger was guarding. He was given little choice however. The pain in his head was paralysing, and his uncle's ever insistent hand was still painful on his arm. Meekly, now, bowed at the head to try and take any of the pressure from the front of head away, he was pulled roughly into the house.

The inside of the house wasn't much brighter than the outside. Harry found himself being led down a corridor lit by a few scattered candles. It was cold inside, much colder than the mild summer evening outside. Off to the right, a staircase ascended to the first floor, but Harry was pulled through a door to the left, finding himself standing in the doorway of what he could only assume to be the dining room.

The room was long and fairly narrow, with heavy wooden panelling on all the walls not helping with the dim lighting of a few more candles. Made up in the centre of the room was the longest table Harry had ever seen, it looked like it could easily seat twenty with room to spare. The table was made of some highly polished wood, reflecting the big silver candlesticks stood down the centre. The table was already set for someone; shining silver cutlery sat waiting beside spotless plates. Harry barely had time to register all this before a door at the other end of the room opened, and his head exploded with a pain that clouded his vision and made him wish for unconsciousness. His knees gave way as he sunk to the floor, his hands trying desperately to push against the consuming pain.

'Already on your knees, Potter? You have learnt something then.' The voice grated inside his head, and although the voice was barely above a whisper, it seemed to ricochet off the walls around him. Harry managed to fight the pain enough to lift his head, see who was speaking his name, and immediately recoiled in both pain and disgust at the man stood in the doorway. He was tall and very thin, robe like clothes hanging from his lanky frame. His head was completely smooth; not a single hair that Harry could detect. Even his face was long and thin, his nose was non-existent, moulded flat to his face, just two nostrils detectable. His lips were thin lines barely discernable from the rest of his pale face. He sneered at Harry, intense eyes almost lapping up the sight of him. Harry wondered how this…man…(for want of a better word) knew his name.

His aunt and uncle, once so insistent on bringing him here, also recoiled, Dudley, stood behind Harry, audibly gasped. The man who had led them here entered the room, walking to the opposite doorway before kneeling before the other man for the briefest of moments. 'Master' Harry thought he heard him murmur.

The master barely glanced down at the man at his feet, his look fixed firmly on Harry. 'You are early.' The man whispered, the voice again reverberating painfully through Harry's head. Harry wondered how he could be early for something he didn't know was going on, but was saved from having to ask by the simpering of his aunt and uncle. 'We are sorry, there was an unexpected complication- they came again.' His aunt said, her voice high pitched, nervous. Why was his aunt suddenly nervous, Harry wondered. And who were they? How did his aunt know this…man?

'You told me all was under control.' The man's voice was eerily calm still, but Harry could detect the accusing undertone, and knew that he was getting angry with his aunt.

'I…I…I thought it was. Their last visit- they've never visited before.'

Harry was getting more than a little confused by this conversation. And his head seemed to be getting steadily more painful.

'You had a simple job.' The man's voice had risen now, definitely not helping the pain in Harry's head, and Harry could almost feel the anger about to be unleashed at someone. 'A simple job, and you failed!'

'But…but…the potion- he got it! His memory has completely changed. He doesn't remember a thing! He doesn't remember _them _at all.' His aunt was almost snarling now. Her anger, though, was fuelled more by a nervousness that was coming off her in waves.

'And yet, even as we partake in this particularly useless conversation, _they_' he spat back, taking the same tone as Petunia, 'know something is wrong.'

Harry turned his head slightly, catching sight of his aunt out of the corner of his eye. Harry was surprised to see tears rolling down her cheeks. He'd never seen his aunt cry before.

'You have failed.' The man stated, as if he was reciting facts learned from a book. 'And you must be punished.'

'No!' His aunt's scream of anguish sent a shudder of dread up Harry's spine. 'We brought him to you! As we promised we would! You have Harry Potter, and he doesn't remember a thing! We did all you asked. You said he'd be out of our lives forever. You promised!'

'And yet, you still tipped them off to his predicament.' The countering argument came. Harry was getting dizzy now; trying to make sense of the conversation on top of the pain in his head, which now felt like an ice pick was steadily being driven deeper and deeper into his brain. Harry felt his knees almost buckle, as once again the man's look returned to him. 'But' the man said, presumably to Petunia, 'you did manage to bring him here. You aren't completely incompetent. The great Harry Potter. If only Dumbledore could see you now- his star pupil kneeling at my feet.'

Harry could only guess he was being talked about because of the use of his name. Who was Dumbledore he blindly wondered, and who was kneeling at anyone's feet?

'Nothing to say? Shame, last time you were so chatty.'

Harry looked up at the stranger in defiance. Whoever he thought he was, Harry didn't like the conversation one bit. The stranger merely carried on looking at him. 'Now, Harry, what do you think? What is a suitable punishment for someone not carrying out orders?'

'But you said' Vernon's immediate protest was cut short by a single look, it seemed, from the stranger. Harry watched as his uncle's face turned purple with rage at being stopped in his prime.

'Now, as I was saying. What is a suitable punishment for their incompetence?' the stranger's look was back on him, and seemed to be expecting an answer. Harry was sure that if he so much as opened his mouth, his brain would come pouring out, such was the pressure of the pain in his head at the moment.

'No? No opinion. Oh well then.' And the stranger brought up a thin stick of wood, pointed directly at his uncle, and uttered two words, 'Avada Kedavra.' A shot of green light flew through the air, connecting directly with his Uncle's chest, sending him reeling back into the wall behind him, dead before he hit the ground.

Harry could hear his aunt's hysterical screaming behind him, as he stared in shock at his Uncle's dead body lying at his feet. Even the pain seemed to have retreated in the sudden shock at seeing the big man suddenly lifeless. Harry was shaking now, with terror, with pain, as he looked back up at the man who had killed his uncle. He opened his mouth, but suddenly his entire insides went cold, as if suddenly his blood had turned to liquid ice. His stomach seemed to throw it's entire content up the back of his throat, and a scream echoed through his head.

'No, not Harry, please not Harry.' A man's voice seemed to plead with him, as against a black backdrop of near unconsciousness, another shot of green seemed to streak through the sky, this time only in his head. Harry wasn't aware of collapsing to the ground, or a shrouded figure reaching towards him with a bony hand, as a woman continued to scream, to plead with an unknown enemy to have mercy on her son, to have mercy on Harry, even as another shot of green came unbidden into sight.

'Enough. Out.'

Harry came round to a splitting headache, and uncontrollable shakes. The stranger was now seated at the head of the table, watching him with a look of mild amusement on his face. 'Finished convulsing?' He asked, a wicked glint to his eye at Harry's obvious discomfort. 'Well, I had all these plans, but your aunt and uncle, in their incompetence, have spoilt them. I suppose all that is left is to kill you.'

Harry's eyes flew open, straight to the stranger's, as his terror, which Harry had thought had reached its peak, rushed through him full force. 'Kill me?' His voice was rough, barely a croak, but seemed to echo in the large room.

'Yes, Harry. After all, we can't have the Boy Who Lived continuing to live after I take over the world, can I?'

'But, but I.' Harry didn't have the words to convey how much this conversation didn't make sense to him, couldn't begin to tell this stranger that he must have him confused with someone else, because he couldn't possibly be about to die. He hadn't done anything wrong.

'Well, I suppose the right thing to do would be to explain everything at this point. But there hardly seems any point, does there? I suppose I could try and make you feel better about dying. You are, after all, forever the noble one, are you not? How about I make it a choice. How about if I kill you, I let your aunt and cousin go free? Does that make dying better for you?'

Harry looked behind him, at his aunt and cousin. Petunia was on the floor next to her dead husband, openly wailing now. Dudley was nowhere to be seen, and Harry wondered if he'd managed to escape somehow. So was this his choice? Dying to save his aunt and cousin. The aunt who had raised him from a baby, given him a home, a loving family? Of course she deserved this. Harry loved her as a mother- after all, she was the closest he'd ever had to the real thing. Harry would die for her. Could die for her.

_Except, _a little voice inside his head whispered, _wasn't she just talking about having you out of her life forever? Didn't she know this man? Didn't she just admit to sacrificing you to get rid of him?'_ Harry was more than a little confused. Here was the woman he believed all his life to be someone who loved him like a son, and yet she somehow knew the man seated before him, knew him enough to beg to have Harry taken off her hands. And the ever-increasing pain in his head wasn't helping his confused state. Harry needed time away from this, time to think, but looking at the bald man calmly sat waiting, he didn't think he was about to get any. Perhaps he could escape, somehow? Get out of this room, get his aunt and his cousin away and sort this out with them. Because surely, surely, his aunt hadn't meant what she'd said. Surely she hadn't been talking about him after all. Surely if they could just get away from here, maybe they could sort this out?

Get away from the man who was able to kill with just a pointed stick and two words said aloud. That was what he had to do. Through his pain and terror, Harry tried to look around him, tried to make out possible escape routes. He knew there was a door behind him, and there was another one off to his right. He knew instantly that wouldn't work. Going forwards would surely be tantamount to suicide. The man, although a stranger to Harry, had not shown any sort of mercy so far this evening. Harry was getting tired now. The pain in his head was wearing him down quickly, sapping at his energy. He wondered what would happen if he just lay down right where he stood, put his head down on the smooth wooden floor and went to sleep.

But Harry didn't lie down. Instead he tried to stand up straighter. He lifted his throbbing head and looked directly at the bald man in front of him. And then dived sideways at his aunt. Adrenaline took over, as he grabbed his aunt's arm, forcing her to stand. He was bigger than his aunt, and easily pulled her to his feet. Behind him, he was dimly aware of an exclamation of surprise, as he pulled his aunt away from the dead body of his uncle, and towards the door. Behind him, he was suddenly aware of something rushing towards him, and looked behind him, seeing a jet of blue streaming towards him. Without thinking, he stuck up his free hand, as if to parry it away, as surprised as anyone when the flash of blue light suddenly hit an invisible screen and rebounded on itself. Harry didn't stop to wonder about it though. He didn't have the energy left to contemplate what the hell was going on. He carried on for the door, surprised but then not so when it slammed shut in front of him. He didn't risk looking back this time. Didn't have time to stop, either, as he ran full force into the door. Except the wooden barrier he was expecting seemed to swallow them both whole, and expel them back out on the other side. They were suddenly back in the empty, cold, hallway, Harry stumbling to the floor with his aunt before he could get back any semblance of balance.

'Vernon…' His aunt moaned, apparently unaware that they'd just walked through a solid oak door. Harry roughly pulled the sobbing woman back to her feet, with some difficulty. As he did so, he looked up and down the corridor, trying desperately to remember from which direction they had come from. He took a random guess, running to his left, dragging his aunt by the arm, not caring at that moment that he would probably leave a bruise.

He'd taken only a few steps when there was a sudden roar behind him, filling his head with another bout of excruciating pain as he once again stumbled, almost falling to the floor. Before he could get back any equilibrium, he found himself flying through the air, no longer holding his aunt by the hand, as he smashed into a solid wall. He was only dimly aware of anything as he saw literal stars before his eyes, and a pain to rival his head exploded up his arm.

'Get Him.' He heard a man's voice snarl, before cold ice once again filled his veins, and he found himself bodily pulled to his feet. The woman's voice was back, screaming once again filling his consciousness, as he relived what he could only describe as the worst nightmare he'd ever experienced. He didn't know if ten seconds had passed, or ten hours, till he regained some consciousness.

He was slumped on the floor, that much he could work out. Still in the hallway, a cold draft washing over him, making goosebumps appear along his exposed arms. He noticed one of arms seemed to be lying at an odd angle, but it felt like he was watching himself on tv, rather than experiencing all this. His brain, for want of a better description, had taken leave of its overloaded senses.

Slowly, he risked raising his head, trying to gage where his aunt had gone, where he had come to lie. Instead, though, he was assaulted with the view of the bald man holding his whimpering cousin by the scruff of the neck, the thin stick of wood held point to his throat. Harry didn't know what the stick was, but he knew a threat when he saw one. Somewhere behind him, a shocked sob sounded, which told him his aunt hadn't completely disappeared. Harry quickly found his head clearing, as he was faced with Dudley struggling to get free.

'Let him go!' He screamed at the stranger.

The man just laughed in his face. 'Do you really think it will be that easy?'

'Let him go!' He screamed again, louder this time, his voice hoarse, tears ready to fall accumulating at the back of his eyes.

'You disappoint me, Potter. You shouldn't have tried to run.'

Harry didn't know what made him do it, but suddenly he found himself flying at the bald man. The man that had killed his Uncle. The man that was holding his cousin hostage. Who was making his aunt make those gut wrenching sobs. Something just snapped inside of him, and he was after the man, clawing at him with his bare hands, screaming at him for everything that he had done that night, in words that were barely English. He didn't hear what was said this time, but he belatedly saw Dudley fall to the floor, the wide eyed stare the same as his fathers. Harry didn't have time to even consider the death of his cousin, as several moments later, he was once again thrown full bodily against the wall, the force making plaster fall from the ceiling as he tasted coppery blood fill his mouth from a split lip and his head threatened to implode.

Suddenly the pointy end of the stick that had been targeted at Dudley, was pointed straight at Harry. The man, who up to then had appeared calm, almost unattached, looked livid. Harry barely had time to register all this when he felt the very air around him suddenly crackle to life and a deep voice boomed around the hall.

'Stop!'

The command made the man pinning him down freeze, look around, enough that Harry, seizing the moment, lashed out, managing to get purchase and get away from the man.

He seemed to barely notice, however, as he sedately got to his feet, seemingly back under control once again as he regarded the new comer. Backing away, Harry got his first look at the owner of the booming voice, and was shocked by the old man in front of him. Only momentarily, however, as he realised this wasn't any frail old man. His white hair might be to his waist, his beard a similar length, fine wrinkles papering his skin; Harry only had to look into his eyes, to know he stood in the presence of someone with power. The blue eyes were as hard, as cold as steel.

'You shouldn't have done this, Tom.' The newcomer stated, finally putting some sort of name to the man.

Tom, however, just laughed at the older man. 'What's the matter, Dumbledore' Tom spat out the name as if it repulsed him. 'Can't stand seeing your precious Harry Potter kneeling at my feet? I might have failed at the ministry, but I will get my revenge tonight.'

'By taking away his memories?'

'Oh, that's just the beginning. Harry here not only doesn't remember a thing, he has a whole other life worth of memories to compensate.'

'It's sad, Tom, that you felt the only way to get what you want is to remove the memories of a child. Ah, but this isn't any old child, is it Tom?' Dumbledore answered himself. 'This is your downfall. What, you felt revenge was needed?'

Tom, stood barely three foot from Harry, once again seemed to be on the brink of losing control. Whatever the newcomer was talking about, he certainly seemed to have hit a nerve with Tom. 'Revenge is owed to me!' Tom hissed back. Harry was barely listening to the conversation; it didn't make any sense to him anyway. Instead he was using the distraction the newcomer was providing to creep along, his back flattened to the wall, trying to put as much distance between him and the pointy end of the stick, which at that moment was far more terrifying than any gun he'd seen on TV.

'It must have seemed so easy- kill a child. Not even that. Kill an infant. Easier to kill a child, for example, than a powerful wizard- one, seemingly, with the power to kill you.' Dumbledore was still talking, his voice eerily soothing to Harry, as he continued to creep along the wall, pressed bodily into it, trying to make himself as small as possible. 'How bitterly disappointed you must feel now, knowing that you still won't get that chance you crave. That you have been forced to remove his memories, and yet you still can't touch him.'

'I can touch him.' Tom growled out. Harry came to a dead stop, as the stick was once again pointed straight at him, the cold eyes of hate once again briefly upon him, sending searing pain through his head.

'I don't think so, Tom.' The newcomer stated, drawing Tom's attention away from Harry. Harry took the opportunity, too scared now to worry about the risks as he took off at a dead run. He took little notice of the house around him, as he took off towards what he could only assume to be the back of the house, skidding through a large, cold kitchen, stopped in his tracks by a large, wooden door. Harry tried the handle, dismayed to find it locked. He rattled the door, desperation building as he tried anything to get the large heavy door to magically open. He risked a glance over his shoulder, grateful that the stranger seemed to be holding the attention of Tom for the moment. He tried the door again, a loud crash behind him startling him badly, the door suddenly opening, almost making him fall backwards. With little thought of how the door suddenly had managed to open all by itself, Harry slipped out into the back yard.

It was pitch black now, very little light from the house filtered out into the back garden, so Harry could barely see a foot in front of him. He had slowed now. Whilst, without a doubt, the scariest thing Harry had ever encountered was somewhere in the house behind, he had been terrified enough of everything in the strange house to not go hurtling into the darkness. Harry had taken only a single step before his terror became well founded. A stick of wood seemed to suddenly appear out of thin air, a muscular hand holding it steady, pointed right at his face. 'Stop right there.' A deep voice told him.

Harry froze in fear.


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer- I don't pretend to own the characters. They belong to JK Rowling._

_Thanks for the reviews (I can say that now there's more than one!)_

The next interruption came, not from someone climbing the stairs from below, but from an incessant tapping on the window. Ron, at first, put the tapping down to a tree blowing about in the wind, before he remembered there had been no wind outside, and no trees that he could remember seeing. He walked over to the window, startled to see the white outline of an owl, desperately trying to keep a hold on the thin ledge outside of the window as it used it's beak to tap on the window.

Ron opened the sash window, and the owl, momentarily off balance, flew gracefully into the room. 'Hedwig!' Ginny said, before Ron could, for he had identified the owl almost immediately as Harry's too.

The owl was obviously distressed, hopping onto Ginny's shoulder, giving her a rather sharp nip on the ear before hopping to Hermione, then to Ron, then back to Ginny, hooting wildly. Hermione finally got Hedwig to settle down slightly, gently catching hold of her on her lap, and trying to calm her down by stroking her gently, talking softly to her. 'You looking for Harry? He's not here yet.' Ron looked over at Ginny, then back to Hermione. 'If Hedwig's here, where the hell is Harry?' He asked out loud, keeping his voice down, if not keeping the fear out.

'You don't think they hurt her, do you?' Ginny asked, taking in the owl's rumpled features.

'No, I don't think so.' Hermione said, examining the owl a little closer. 'I think she might have been flying around for a while, though. We should get her some water, food.'

Ron left the room to seek out some water, whilst Hermione gently carried on stroking Hedwig's rumpled feathers, smoothing them back down. Hedwig stood still for a moment, seeming to find the stroking relaxing. She turned once to look over her shoulder at Hermione, letting out a single pained hoot. 'I know, girl, I know.' Hermione assured her in a whisper.

Ron crept down the stairs, wondering how close he could get to the kitchen, if he could get close enough to hear anything useful. The unsettled feeling in his stomach was making him feel nauseous. He could, of course, have used any of the bathrooms he'd passed on the way. But he had long since stopped thinking about Hedwig- she was an owl, they were meant to be outside. Ron doubted she'd starved herself. What worried him more was the implication of Hedwig turning up alone, after what had happened at Harry's house earlier. Harry with no memory. Ron couldn't get the blank look he'd had on his face when he'd first opened the door out of his mind. What if he didn't remember anything? Professor Lockhart hadn't remembered anything, either. And he was now a permanent resident at St Mungo's. Was that where Harry was going to end up? Ron rounded the last landing, about to start down the last set of stairs when he heard voices. He paused where he was, listening hard. He couldn't make out words, but the voices were scared. He heard the one name he had grown up to fear above all others mentioned. Ron didn't know why it surprised him- everything that had ever gone wrong in Harry's life could be directly or indirectly linked to He Who Must Not Be Named.

Not wanting to be found lurking on the staircase, especially as his mum had promised to come up and see them as soon as the meeting was over, Ron backtracked to the nearest bathroom, filling a cup with fresh cold water for Hedwig. Without access to the kitchen in the basement, he was stuck on what to get Hedwig to eat. Maybe he'd have some spare owl treats still in his backpack.

The girls were talking softly, Hedwig still on Hermione's lap when Ron got back to them. He placed the water on the low table between the two beds, extending his arm to Hedwig who hopped on it, to the table and started to drink. 'The meeting's over.' Ron told them. 'I saw them all leaving.' He took a seat on the bed next to Hermione.

'Did you hear anything?' Ginny asked.

'They mentioned You Know Who.' Ron told them.

'When will you just say his name?' Hermione asked in exasperation. She seemed to forget her own question though, as she started worrying her cuticle. Ron knew she was worried about Harry, and like him, wishing there was something more they could do to help rather than just sitting there.

Mrs Weasley, as Ron had predicted, knocked gently on the door a moment later. She was pale, her eyes worried, her whole disposition suddenly spent. 'Where is he mum? Where's Harry?' Ron asked first.

Mrs Weasley could only shrug her shoulders. 'They…don't know.' She finally answered, taking a seat next to Ginny on the bed, pulling her close for a brief hug. The contact seemed to soothe her slightly, and she looked over at Ron and Hermione. 'The only thing we can guess is that Voldemort is somehow linked. Dumbledore and many of the Aurors are out there now, looking for him, but…'

The worry for Harry was obvious in Mrs Weasley's eyes, and Ron found it harder to look at her than he had just sitting and waiting. 'It'll be ok mum.' Ginny said quietly, squeezing her mother's hand. 'He'll be back here soon.'

No one wanted to wonder in what condition that might be, though.

They were shaken out of silence by a sudden yell from downstairs. 'Molly! Dumbledore's got Harry- he's alive!'

They all moved as one, running wildly downstairs.

Harry didn't know how long the silence stretched. All his thoughts were centred on the stick of wood pointed at him, waiting, just waiting for the green light to emanate from it, to be struck down dead like his uncle and cousin. It took a moment too long to realise that the wand was moving, but it was lowering down. 'Bloody Hell.' The voice said this time, sounding shocked. Harry risked a glance over his shoulder, wondering if he'd been caught from behind, but all he could see was the empty kitchen.

His attention was swung round again, this time by the sound of a woman's voice. He looked more carefully, but the shadows consumed a lot, and all he could make out was that whoever it was stood to the left of where he was. 'What the hell? It's Harry.'

Another person who seemed to know who he was. 'What the hell's happening?' The female voice said, whispering still, sounding perplexed.

'Dumbledore's in there with You Know Who.' The original man answered her.

'Should we get out of here?' The woman asked.

The man didn't have a chance to respond when Harry felt movement behind him, and quickly moved, forgetting everything but trying to escape from Tom. He moved to his right, disappearing into the shadows, away from the open door. He tried to move quickly but quietly, but his head was still killing him, and now his arm was getting in on the act making his movements rigid, jerky. He hugged the broken arm to his chest, trying to keep silent, even though all he wanted to do was swear up a storm, or better yet scream in pain. Except he didn't think that screaming would do his head any good. He wondered what had happened to his aunt. Hoped that she hadn't been harmed in anyway. The scratchy brick behind him crumbled slightly as Harry pressed his back hard against it as he moved along, listening desperately for the slightest sound, startled into a gasp as he walked straight into a hard body.

The hand was on his mouth a moment later, and a soft whisper in his ear demanded him to be silent. Harry was confused, scared, and in pain, and didn't want to be quiet. He wanted to rant and rave at everything and anything that had so far happened that evening. He wanted to scream till someone gave him some answers, or better yet took him home, took him safely back to Privet Drive so he could forget all about this terrifying night. But the voice took all this from him. The voice, both soft and demanding, stole any thoughts of fighting back, leaving him once again in terrified silence.

He didn't have much time to think, time to consider whether this was friend or foe, good or bad. Partly because in the state he was in, he didn't think he'd be able to tell the difference at the moment anyway. Thinking about anything at the moment, except perhaps how bloody scared he was, was proving too difficult. So when a sudden pull to his stomach made the bile rush back up to his throat, when the air around him chilled him to the bone, when his ears popped suddenly, when he felt he was travelling faster than he'd ever travelled before, and yet couldn't really detect any movement, he hardly gave two thoughts to what exactly was happening. In all truth, he didn't have the energy to care anymore.

All that changed as soon as his feet touched down on something solid. When he was suddenly able to see something other than utter darkness only to find himself staring at a group of people. His thoughts were a sudden whirlwind he was unable to comprehend. He could just about work out he had came to a stop in a kitchen. Glancing to the left slightly, he could see the man who had had urged him to keep quiet. It was the same man who had stepped into the fight with Tom, the one Tom had called Dumbledore. Seeing him up close, he was surprised at how small, how old the man suddenly appeared. Almost completely different to the man he had witnessed facing off with Tom.

Unconsciously he found himself backing up once again until he was once again stood with his back against something solid. He stood there, panting, one arm braced by the other against his chest, his eyes wildly tracking through the people stood staring at him, looking past them, desperately searching for an escape route.

He felt like a cornered animal. He stared wildly around, desperate from an exit of any kind, feeling trapped by a ring of people and beyond them four solid walls of a dark kitchen. He could feel the panic setting in. After the fear of the last few hours, the pain still pounding in his head, and down his shattered arm, the grief of seeing two of his family struck dead before him, he just wanted to go home. A part of his head was still worrying about his aunt, what had happened to her in the end, if she was ok, or hurt, or worse, dead like his uncle and cousin. The white haired man was watching him intently, his blue eyes intense, speaking, it looked like as his lips were moving. He may well have been speaking Latin, because with his pounding head, and the continued pain in his arm, Harry couldn't get his head to concentrate enough to listen. He looked at the other people in the room, and for a moment wondered if he was seeing double because an awful lot of them had red hair. With a jolt, though, he realise he recognised one of them, the tall gangly boy in the middle. He had rung the doorbell just that afternoon, asking for him by name, even though Harry'd never seen him before in his life. And now that his mind had something concrete to concentrate on, he realised that the brown haired girl stood next to him was also the one that had been with him that afternoon. They looked to be about his age, if he had to guess, although the red head definitely had a few inches on him. The girl was shorter, and for some reason had tears falling down her cheeks as she watched at him, looking almost fearful.

Next to her was another girl, slightly younger maybe, although not much. Also a red head, although her hair was long and straight. She was the same height as the brunette, dressed similar in jeans and a jumper. She wasn't crying, but her expression was one full of pain for something; Harry wondered why they all seemed scared of him.

Next to the red headed boy stood a woman, smaller in height, but almost certainly Harry thought the mother of the red headed clan. She too had tears in her eyes, a look of hurt on her face he didn't recognise, something causing her pain that he didn't understand. Harry made a snap decision, looking directly at the slightly overweight motherly figure, and out of all the strangers in the room trusting in her the most. 'Where am I?' he asked, his voice scratchy, barely a whisper. He realised his throat hurt as well. He'd done a lot of screaming.

'You're safe, Harry.'

He visibly flinched at the familiar use of his name by a stranger.

'You're at Grimmauld Place. In London.' She added, looking at the greying older wizard for a moment, asking a silent question. Harry saw him nod slightly. 'Please let us help you- your arm!' She added, desperately, gesturing at the arm Harry still held cradled against his chest. Harry glanced down at it, shocked at the pain once again now that he focused on it, before looking back at them. He was more scared of them at the moment.

'Who the hell are you people?' He asked, watching all of them flinch at the harsh question. Tears sprung afresh from the Brunette at his question, the older woman's mouth formed a silent O

'Harry…' The silver haired man moved towards him but Harry shrunk back, unconsciously forming a barrier between him and the man with his mind that Dumbledore immediately felt, stopping where he was. 'We can help you if you let us.' He finally said.

'Why did you bring me here?' Harry asked, staring straight at him suddenly, his look accusatory. He didn't let Dumbledore answer, though, 'where's my aunt and uncle, Dudley?' He knew of course. He'd seen his Uncle struck down with two words, seen his cousin suffer the same. Seen the life flee from their bodies in a single heartbeat, accompanied by a flash of green. But while that was what the logical side of his brain believed, his heart refused to accept it as anything more than a fantasy. His heart was demanding for it not to be real. That the man with the snake eyes didn't really exist, hadn't really killed them with a simple incantation. He wanted to be told that this was all a dream, a nightmare. That his aunt would soon enter his cosy bedroom at Privet Drive, shake him gently by the shoulder and tell him that it was all a nightmare, that it was time for breakfast. He desperately, desperately wanted to be told that this wasn't real. That this couldn't be real.

The man's voice, though quiet, calming in its consistency, only wanted to make him scream out loud. 'Your Uncle is dead, Harry. Dudley is dead.'

'No!'

The man ignored him, pressed on as if he hadn't said anything. Neither of them heard the gasp of horror that echoed around the room. 'Your aunt is safe. She has been taken to a hospital to be checked out.'

'Then take me to her.' Harry hardly recognised his voice, the child like pleading quality, demanding the stranger. 'Take me home!'

'I can't, Harry. It is not safe.'

Harry suddenly stood up straight, and everyone but Dumbledore gasped at the sudden shock that ran through the room. 'TAKE ME HOME!' He yelled out, forgetting his arm, forgetting the pounding in his head, forgetting his wish for all this to be just a dream if only they would listen and let him go home.

'I can't.' The man was still too calm for Harry, just standing there, his blue eyes piercing in their intensity. 'It is not safe. For you or your aunt.'

Harry couldn't hear him though, was past caring if it was safe, or right, or anything. He'd had enough, his body had had enough, his mind had had enough. Everyone felt the chill in the air suddenly, Mrs Weasley suddenly feeling goose bumps flood her arms. Before she knew what was happening though, a flash whirled past on her periphery, and Harry slumped suddenly unconscious to the floor.

For a split second, everyone was still too shocked to move, finding it too hard to comprehend what the hell was happening. But then Mrs Weasley moved, realising it didn't matter, that Harry was hurt, was unconscious on the cold stone floor. Just behind her Hermione and Ron also hurried over, kneeling down beside the fallen boy.

Dumbledore turned to Tonks, who had stood quietly in the corner, watching the scene with little comprehension of what was happening. First they'd had reports of Harry being kidnapped, and then she'd actually seen Voldemort fighting Harry. Then it was Dumbledore fighting Voldemort, and Harry had walked out right in front of them looking terrified. And Kingsley had made him look even more panicked with his silly demands, and Harry had tried to escape, and then Dumbledore had strolled out, ordered them back to Grimmauld Place, he'd bring Harry. And as if that wasn't enough, Dumbledore had apparated through unbreachable wards, and Harry didn't even remember where he was. It was too much. Tonks was more than glad when Dumbledore issued her a single command. She didn't think she could cope with anymore. 'Go floo Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts.'

Tonks went. As soon as she got back, she heard Dumbledore order Kingsley to take his aurors and make sure The Burrow was still unbreached. Kingsley turned to Tonks, and together with the other Aurors they walked outside to apparate over.

'Why did you have to stun him?' Mrs Weasley asked; her voice more stunned than critical of the action.

'I had no choice.' Dumbledore answered, standing over the fallen body providing a guard.

'Was it him, was it… Voldemort?'

'Yes. I believe he destroyed Harry's memories, replacing them, to lure him from his home.' Dumbledore told them.

Hermione looked up at him, with a frown of concentration fighting with tears that were still falling. Dumbledore held up his hand, averting any questions. Instead they were interrupted by Madam Pomfrey flooing into the house.

As a group they watched in silence as Madam Pomfrey healed the broken arm, before setting to work on Harry's other injuries. Mrs Weasley spoke first. 'Why have you sent people to get The Burrow ready?' She asked Dumbledore.

Dumbledore looked over at her. 'This is no place for a home to be made. And while I have made a great assumption with placing Harry in your care for the rest of the summer, I can't think of anywhere else I could place him.'

Mrs Weasley tried to interrupt, but Dumbledore pressed on. 'Too many of the Order are in and out of here, at all hours of the day and night. It is no place for children to be, in deed, no place to live on a permanent basis. And whilst I must ask to inconvenience you in placing Harry in your care, I won't ask you to give up your home as well.'

'But isn't Grimmauld Place safer?' Mrs Weasley asked. She made no comment about Harry being placed with her. Dumbledore knew that if he'd even tried to place him somewhere else she would have argued with him all the way.

'The Burrow is as safe as here. And I will go before you to add any other protection I can. I won't lie: Harry was meant to be safe with his aunt, and Voldemort still managed to get in. I don't believe there is an impenetrable place left, not even Hogwarts. We just have to get on with things as best we can.'

'How do we do that, Albus?' Mrs Weasley asked in a whisper. 'Harry doesn't remember us, doesn't remember anything about us.'

For the first time that evening, the powerful headmaster that stood before them suddenly looked nothing more than a frail old man. For a moment he simply stared down at Harry's prone body, his blue eyes dull, an expression that could only be described as sorrowful on his face. He finally looked back up at Mrs Weasley, and spoke quietly. 'We do our best.' He sighed, a long sigh of an old man who had too bigger burden on his shoulders. 'Perhaps being back at The Burrow will help spark a memory or something.' He added, not convincing anyone with the words.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: my words, but not my creation. I hope there are some people enjoying reading this, as I am enjoying writing it and plan to see it to its conclusion. As always, all reviews are read and appreciated.

'What happened to his memories, Professor?'

It was late, well past midnight, but they were up still, sitting around the well worn but very comfortable Weasley sitting room. Two floors above them, Harry was still unconscious, as Madam Pomfrey had advised to leave him till at least the morning. Hermione studied the Headmaster as she waited for the answer to the question she'd been dying to ask all evening. Even past that. For some reason, she didn't trust Dumbledore at the moment to give them a full answer. It made her feel uncomfortable; no longer trusting the headmaster as she once had done unquestioningly.

'I wish I knew, Miss Granger. Only a very powerful potion, taken over many weeks could have done this sort of lasting damage.'

Hermione paled. 'His aunt and uncle gave him a potion?' She asked, horrified, her mind as usual one step ahead of those around her.

'Yes, I believe they did.' Dumbledore looked very sad with the statement he had just made.

'But that's…but that's…horrible.' Hermione said.

'Yes it is. It also got two of them killed, something I believe Voldemort had always planned.'

Ron was still trying to make his mind do the leap of logic Hermione's had already done, watching as Mrs Weasley's eyes filled with tears once again. How one human could do that to another was beyond him.

'Do you think they knew?' Ginny asked into the silence.

Dumbledore fixed her with a piercing look. 'I don't know that it matters. Even if Voldemort never told them his plans regarding Harry, his Aunt Petunia would have known enough about him from the first war to deduce his plan wasn't good. They wanted Harry out of their lives for good. Voldemort, I believe, played on this for his own purpose. He couldn't touch Harry whilst he was at Privet Drive, whilst he was at his aunt's house. He could, however, once he lured Harry out of the house, and with no memory left to use to try and save himself.'

'Why was Harry so safe at his Aunt's house?' Hermione queried quietly, pinning Dumbledore with a firm gaze. 'Surely the wards could have been erected anywhere.'

Dumbledore slowly shook his head as he tried to find the words to explain why Harry had to go back to his aunts. He remembered the horrendous meeting in his office with Harry, the night that Sirius had died. Remembered trying to explain to Harry why he had sent him back to his aunt's every summer, why he had deemed it necessary to condemn him to living there while he was growing up. Telling it once to Harry, trying to make him understand had been hard enough. Now everyone sitting around The Burrow was watching him, waiting for an answer. Dumbledore felt the pressure of wanting to do everything right, the pressure that hindsight can bring on a conundrum from so long ago.

'His mother died to save him, provoking some of the most ancient and powerful of blood magic. It was his mother's protection that stopped an unstoppable killing curse from killing Harry, and it is that protection that is meant to keep him safe in his aunt's house. As long as he could call it home, his mother's blood protection, through his aunt should protect him.' He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling weary and not just from the extended dual with Voldemort. 'I certainly did not envisage Voldemort using such an elaborate plan to bypass the wards.'

Silence descended on the Burrow for a moment, the regular tick of a clock the only noise to be heard as everyone digested this news. It explained a lot, but also led to a thousand more questions.

'I think that it is time for bed.' Mr Weasley announced, breaking the silence. 'It has been a long day, and I fear tomorrow will be even longer.' The younger Weasley children and Hermione bid a good night to the adults, but Hermione stopped at the stairs. 'Professor?' Dumbledore looked up at her. 'It's going to be hard to convince Harry that we're trying to help him, isn't it?' She asked.

Dumbledore answered with a small, honest nod.

A door slammed shut, making the panes of glass in the windows of the kitchen rattle in their frames. The people sat around the kitchen table under the rouse of eating breakfast exchanged uneasy glances. Mrs Weasley made another trip to the stove, returning to the table with more sausages, more eggs, dumping them on any plate that happened to have space, regardless if the owner actually wanted more. The tension could be cut with a Diffindo. Mr Weasley sat at the head of the table, trying to look disapproving of the others eavesdropping, at the same time as not trying too hard to listen himself. Ron and Ginny sat on the side of the table closest to the stove, and had so far had to duck a total of three times to avoid low flying frying pans. Hermione sat opposite, the chair next to her conspicuously empty. Dumbledore was upstairs now, talking to Harry. And although the words were unintelligible, they all knew it wasn't going so well.

Ginny heaved a large sigh as she speared a sausage. It was kind of ironic that the summer that brought Harry to the Burrow the earliest was the one year Harry didn't want to come.

They all immediately took up eating when footsteps were heard on the stairs, deliberately keeping their attention on their plates as someone entered the kitchen. The chair at the head of the table creaked, and they all looked up at Dumbledore's face. The ancient wizard looked round at them all, the weariness in his usually twinkling eyes betraying how hard the meeting was.

'Do you want me to try?' Mr Weasley asked.

Before Dumbledore could say anything, there was a clatter of a frying pan on the stove and they all turned to find Mrs Weasley wiping her hands on a teacloth, a determined look on her face. 'I'll go.'

'Molly…' Dumbledore started, sounding wary.

'I'll go.' She said, much more fiercely this time, and no one else dared question her.

They all listened with apprehension, but there was no slamming doors, no muffled thumps, and rather sooner than they would have expected there were two sets of footsteps on the stairs.

Ginny tried hard not to stare; looking up briefly when Harry first accompanied Mrs Weasley into the kitchen before going back to the comprehensive study of her breakfast plate. What shocked her the most, made her take a second look was how normal he looked. Same messy black hair, same lightening bolt scar, right down to the intense green eyes. The only sign of meeting Voldemort head on was a few scratches on his face, a single visible bruise. It didn't seem enough, really, after what he had faced.

'Sit down, dear.' Mrs Weasley urged, pushing Harry gently into the seat next to Hermione.

'Hi Harry.' Hermione greeted him, smiling brightly till Harry visibly flinched at the familiar use of his name. Mrs Weasley, scooping up the frying pan and dumping the contents on Harry's plate, broke the uncomfortable silence.

'I'm really not that hungry.' Harry started, before his stomach betrayed him with a loud rumble. A small rueful smile came to his face as he picked up his knife and fork and started eating without another word.

'Harry, you remember I was telling you about the Weasleys?' Dumbledore spoke into the silence. 'Mr Weasley.' He nodded towards the opposite head of the table, where Mr Weasley gave a tight smile in greeting. 'Mrs Weasley you've already met. Ron who's in your year at school.' Ron managed a smile that might as well have been a grimace at the sound of his name. 'And Ginny. She's a year below you.' Ginny, for her part, managed a bright smile in greeting, meeting Harry's eye and nodding. 'And this is Hermione Granger- she's also in your year at school.' Dumbledore was about to say she was a friend, but realised this wasn't going to help someone with no memory.

Harry was saved the possible embarrassment of having to find the words to greet them by the large breakfast on the plate in front of him. He nodded in general at the table, briefly meeting the girl's- Ginny's- eye before he looked down at the table. He wondered if anyone else thought this conversation was as bizarre as he did- not knowing that all in the kitchen mirrored the thought at that moment.

Harry finished the large breakfast, more out of intense hunger than wanting to eat. Although the fry up was one of the best he'd tasted. Aunt Petunia really didn't like cooking that much. He was trying not to look around the kitchen too much. At the washing up that seemed to be doing itself. At the clock on the wall that seemed to have about nine hands rather than the usual three, and with none of them moving very far.

'You're a wizard, Harry.'

The words, told to him by Dumbledore that morning made absolutely no sense. How could he be a wizard? Without knowing? How could any of the people in this room be wizards, or witches? These things weren't real! They only existed in fairy tales, or in fantasy TV programmes.

'Your memories- all your memories- are false, Harry. The evil man that killed your Uncle and cousin last night to get you out of your aunt's house made them up. He was trying to kill you.'

Why would anyone want to kill him? Why would anyone spend any length of time bothering to make up a whole lifetime of memories just to get him out of a house? Did Dumbledore really think he was that stupid.

But then his thoughts turned to what he had seen yesterday. The flashes of green spells that had killed his uncle, his cousin in a single heartbeat. His sudden ability to walk through solid oak doors. The fact that his broken arm had somehow mended itself while he spoke. The fact that the bloody washing up was bloody doing itself.

Harry felt his head start to throb as anger, and grief, and terror all tried to push themselves to the surface. He knew what he had to do. He had to go and see his aunt. She would tell him what was going on. She would tell him that the old man was a fool, that wizards weren't real, that magic didn't exist, that his uncle and cousin weren't really dead but sitting at home waiting for him.

'I want to see my aunt.' He spoke to the kindly woman, Mrs Weasley. 'I need to see my aunt.' He corrected himself a moment later.

Mrs Weasley glanced towards Dumbledore. 'I understand you want to see your aunt, Harry. But-'

'Please! I need to see her, I need to-'

'You can't Harry. Not at the moment. Your aunt is safe.' Dumbledore spoke quietly, firmly.

The chair clattered against the stone floor as Harry abruptly rose to his feet, hands planted on the table. 'You don't understand! This can't be real! This can't be happening! I need to speak to my aunt.' He cried.

'Harry, calm down.' Mrs Weasley told him.

'You can't go. Not yet. I will take you to see her as soon as it is safe.'

Harry looked down on the seated old man, feeling the anger surging in him. He pushed off from the table, turning round and stalking up the stairs, the anger powering his steps, once again the slamming door rattling the windows in their panes.

'Well, nice to see his temper hasn't changed.' Ginny eventually said into the silence, just to break it. She saw a flicker of a smile from Ron before nothing. She shook her head, her own thoughts turning more maudlin. 'I don't understand. How can he not even remember…' She trailed off, knowing everyone else was probably thinking along the same line.

'I have to go to Headquarters, see if they have any fix on where Voldemort fled to last night.' Dumbledore said. 'I'm sorry to leave, Molly.'

Mrs Weasley shook her head. 'I understand. And don't worry, headmaster, it will just take time, but I'm sure he'll settle down eventually.'

Dumbledore nodded, and with a quick goodbye, disappeared outside.

The Weasleys and Hermione surveyed each other around the table as they each contemplated what fate, or at least Voldemort, had brought to their lives. Ron was the first to speak. 'Uh, don't you have to be at work, Dad?' He asked.

Mr Weasley shook his head. 'No, I've taken the day off to be here.'

No one had to ask why.

'What's the plan, then?' Hermione asked.

'Well dear, for now, I think we need to give Harry some space. He's grieving. While we wait for Dumbledore to find the cure.' Mrs Weasley told her.

'And if there is none…?' Ginny asked.

'Then we do our best, dear. We do our best.' Mrs Weasley answered with a sigh.

Unfortunately, Harry had other ideas. Mrs Weasley gave him an hour to cool off before venturing upstairs to see if he wanted a drink, only to find an empty room. She searched through all the rooms upstairs, all of them showing no sign of an occupant. She literally ran down the stairs, calling at the top of her lungs for her husband. 'He's gone! Gone!' She yelled, startling the rest of the occupants of the lounge, who were on their feet immediately.

'What do you mean, gone?' Mr Weasley asked.

'He's GONE! The window's open, he must have climbed out of it.' Mrs Weasley told him.

'But how could he? He doesn't even know where he is!' Mr Weasley exclaimed.

'He's gone to find his aunt.' Ginny said quietly.

Mr Weasley looked at her for a moment, before nodding abruptly and turning to the fireplace. A moment later he had disappeared into the fireplace, his destination Grimmauld Place. A minute later he was back, shaking soot off his robes, a grim expression on his face.

'Dumbledore said to search the property, but if he's managed to get past the wards, to not worry, stay put and he'd go and find him.'

It didn't take long to search the house top to bottom, just in case, and the grounds. They collected back in the lounge, wondering how this could possibly get any worse. Hermione was the first to speak up. 'But how did he get past the wards?'

No one could answer her.

Harry stood in Privet Drive, staring at his home, trying to not to think too hard about how he'd got here. It had been a long journey, made more difficult because he hadn't known where he was, and had very little money on him. He'd made it, determination and adrenaline getting him there, and now stood watching the silent house for at least the last ten minutes, trying to get the courage to walk in. He knew why he was nervous. He wanted someone to tell him that everything that had happened in the last few days was a product of his over active imagination. He wanted to walk in and find his uncle, buried behind his paper, and to find Dudley, sitting before the telly, engrossed in Eastenders. He wanted his family back, his normal life back. He wanted someone to take away this grief that had a tight, painful grip on his insides. He wanted, however childishly, for someone to tell him that it would be all right. He tried not to think of the old man, Dumbledore, and the nonsense of his being a wizard. How could he be, there was no such thing.

He squared his shoulders, willing Dumbledore's voice away, and took a step towards the house. When nothing untoward happened, he took another step, and another. The house seemed quieter than usual, more brooding, as if it too was in mourning. Harry hoped this was just a projection of his own mood. He inserted his key into the lock, and slowly opened the door, stepping into the silent hallway.

He walked into the lounge, immediately feeling relieved to find his aunt, sitting stiffly upright in an armchair, one thin hand clasping a handkerchief. His aunt was safe; they hadn't been lying about that, anyway. And uninjured, from first glance. 'I thought I'd lost you too.' He whispered.

His aunt slowly looked up at him. He'd always thought she looked beautiful, his aunt. Her blond hair was always neat, her blue eyes friendly. But her features, however striking were now marred by a sallow colour, her eyes red rimmed where she'd recently been crying. For a moment, she just regarded him in silence. He wanted to ask about Uncle Vernon, and Dudley, but the cold tightening grip of grief was back, one look at her face telling him all that he didn't dare ask.

'I thought I'd lost all my family.' He said without thinking, his voice still unconsciously quiet.

'Family? FAMILY!' Suddenly the beautiful blond women sat before him morphed before his eyes. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, a little bit of spittle collecting at the corner of her mouth. Her blue eyes, once so warm towards him now flashed with anger, cold as steel. Her very features suddenly seemed much older than before. The grieving woman was gone in a flash.

'You were never family! You were dumped on us when you were a baby. We never wanted you- we certainly didn't care for you. All because of my sister and her abnormality. And of course, you had that abnormality as well. Family? You should never have been part of my family- we should have drowned you as a baby.'

Confused now, Harry gripped the doorjamb, recoiling from his normally loving aunt's hatred towards him. 'But I don't understand.' He stammered out. 'It wasn't my fault.'

'Not your fault?' His aunt snarled at him. 'Vernon and Dudley are dead because of you! All because we took you in all those years ago.' At the thought of her husband and her son, her face suddenly seemed to collapse, tears spilling from her eyes. For a moment Harry thought she was going to dissolve into tears, but she suddenly looked back at him, the lost look gone, a renewed anger turning her face to granite. 'Go! Go away. I can't stand the sight of you any longer.'

'But I want to come back here. I need to come back here. This is my home. I don't belong anywhere else.'

'You don't belong here either. I never want to see you again.' She growled out.

Harry turned from her, feeling physically sick at the words that had been thrown at him. He looked back once, from the door, looking at the aunt he believed had loved him as a mother, looking at him now with nothing short of hatred. Harry didn't look back again. Didn't look back at the house he grew up in as he walked up Privet Drive. A part of him knew he'd never be back there again. But mostly the tears fell for the loss of everything he had believed true. The sudden renewed grief- the loss of the only family he'd ever known, the only home he'd ever known. As he walked down Privet Drive, away from the house where his aunt sat weeping, Harry let the tears fall, feeling alone in a world that seemed to hold nothing but hate for him.

He didn't know how long it had taken Dumbledore to find him. Wasn't really that surprised that he had been found, unaware that Dumbledore had been watching over him. He'd been sitting, watching the stream at his feet, as behind him the sun set on another day. The tears had long since grown dry on his face, an exhaustion with life numbing him deep to his bones.

At first, no words passed between them. Dumbledore stood in respectful silence, his expression grim, till Harry finally acknowledged his presence with a fleeting glance.

'I'm sorry you had to find out this way.' Dumbledore finally spoke.

Harry looked around at him again, waiting. The man stood next to him looked older than when he'd met him yesterday. Deep lines scarred his face, his eyes no longer seemed to have a life of their own: they looked dull and expressionless suddenly. Harry looked at him and waited for the old man to tell him what he had to do now, how he was meant to go on. He felt anger flash through him, hot and sudden, and he wanted to shout and scream at everything that had happened, at what his Aunt Petunia had said. He wanted to blame the man in front of him for the collapse of his life. The childish part of him wanted to demand that Dumbledore make it all better again. Unknown to Harry, but felt by Dumbledore, the very air around him crackled with the anger, the emotion fighting within Harry for a release. The stream running past Harry's feet suddenly started to run faster, whilst all around them the grass covering the field stood to attention, every blade reaching it's full height as the sky suddenly filled with thunderous clouds, blocking out the sun so suddenly that the very air seemed to drop ten degrees.

But just as suddenly, the boy who was fit to burst deflated in front of him, the air calming suddenly, letting the grass lie flat once again, calming the stream back to a slow trickle, the thunder clouds disappearing as suddenly as they had appeared. The young man before him suddenly looked like a lost little boy, and Dumbledore, found himself for the first time in a long time lost for words. What do you say to make up for the loss of a family, for the betrayal of everything you trusted to be true, for the knowledge that all your memories are, are lies?

'I'm very sorry, Harry.' Dumbledore apologised once more but this time he was apologising in advance as he whispered a spell, hitting Harry before he even had a chance to acknowledge the apology, catching him before he slumped fully to the ground.

Dumbledore apparated the unconscious boy to The Burrow, delivering him into the safe hands of an extremely relieved Mrs Weasley, relating the details of what had transpired that afternoon.


End file.
